Family Matters
by Neteret
Summary: Whether you want to or not, you usually must deal with family. Sometimes, it stays within the family and sometimes it becomes something for the police to handle.
1. Chapter 1

Horatio Caine, lead detective for the Miami-Dade Crime Scene Investigation team, was not in a good mood. He had just had to perform one of the hardest duties for any police officer; inform a mother of the death of her daughter, an MDPD police officer. He had put on a necktie, driven out to just west of Opa-locka to one of those quiet neighborhoods everyone wants to live in. He'd parked in front of the house on the tree lined street, and gone up to knock on the screen door. Although the front door was open, the woman apparently didn't hear the banging so he'd wrapped harder and longer. This brought neighbors out to look.

A dark faced woman had finally come to the door and asked. "May I help you?"

"Ms. Martin?"

"Yes." She was already suspicious and looked through the screen this way and that, making sure neighbors were seeing all there was to see.

"My name is Lieutenant Caine from Miami-Dade police" He opened his coat and showed is badge. "May I come in?"

As soon as she heard the words, she knew. Relatives of any police officer live with the dread, the knowledge that this might happen. For a moment, she stood stock still as if this would stop time, perhaps even turn it back. Horatio had seen this action almost every time. Then, as if wondering if the world had somehow gone awry, she eyed the people still standing in their yards or peeking through windows. Yes, they were there, curious, yet respectful of her privacy.

In spite of all of this she demonstrated a poise and self-confidence not often seen in women in their fifties. This probably came in part from her six foot height and the remnants of a model like beauty.

Her daughter, Police Office Nichelle Martin had showed the same attractiveness and more. She had been assigned to the lab, escorting prisoners, standing guard outside of interrogation rooms, carrying evidence as it was required. Like her mother, she had been tall. Horatio had remembered noting the same fire and determination in her face that he had felt in his first days on the job. Yes, given a chance, she would have gone far in the force.

"Do you have anyone close, a relative perhaps that you can ask to come over?"

Getting nervous now, she snapped, "Just throw it out there! I'm ready for it."

"I am sorry to have to tell you that your daughter, Nichelle was shot and killed yesterday evening." He explained that it had been a senseless gang related shooting. What did it matter that they had caught the shooter almost immediately? That wasn't the point! It wouldn't bring that officer, that woman's daughter back.

In spite of her brave words a moment ago, hearing the words, Ms. Martin did what so many mothers have done. She screamed and collapsed to her knees, covering her face with her hands. As he expected, two women and a man suddenly appeared on the porch. They threw open the screen door, shouting inquiries.

The mother cried out, "Nichelle is dead! She's dead! She was shot!"

As a group, everyone helped the woman to her feet and took her to the couch.

"Oh, baby, this is awful!"

"Oh, darlin', you poor thing."

The man asked Horatio for details and nodded as Horatio painted the brief picture. Nichelle was in a patrol car with her partner. They were taking a call when a young man walked by. Apparently he had to 'make his bones' and in this case, it was on her. A witness had called it in and he had been caught within a couple of hours.

"He's in jail waiting for arraignment as we speak."

The man slowly shook his grizzled head at the sad description and then turned to look at the grieving mother. "Her other daughter, Tara, lives in Tennessee with her family. Until she can get down here, we'll see she isn't left alone."

Leaving information about where to go to identify the remains and get information on what to do next, Horatio had left the house as quickly as was expedient. His was to deliver bad tidings, not to share in the privacy of a parent's grief.

Now, driving east on 65th Street, he was trying to throw off the ill feelings by thinking about the rest of the day. First, back to the lab. 65th would take him to Gratigny Parkway and that would get him onto the 95 Expressway and on to Flagler. Once at the lab, he'd check in with the team, look at lab results on last night's shooting, talk with police Lieutenant-Detective Frank Tripp about it, and make sure all of the loose ends were tied securely. He hadn't made any promises to the mother. Even though the thug was considered innocent until proven guilty by a trial of his peers, there was no doubt. They had the gun and the bullets in the evidence locker. The eyewitnesses had cheerfully gotten up out of comfortable beds at a godawful early hour and were in no doubt in looking at lineups. Still, Horatio had too often been caught up in improper handling of evidence and lawyer shenanigans over proving witness incompetence. Even though he couldn't promise the mother, he sure as hell could promise himself this animal would pay for what he had done to a police officer.

Still, his determination on what he had to do was not so distracting that he missed a peculiarity on the roadside. He was passing the main entrance to the extensive Amelia Earhart Park, and noted what looked like a minor legal violation. In this vacation land, it wasn't unusual to see an RV broken down along a road. However, instead of one RV parked at the entrance to the park, there were several. Two were sticking far enough into the road that they caused a hazard to passing traffic. More, these weren't the only large vehicles. All along the entrance road into the park and to the parking slots where the bathrooms were, there were perhaps a dozen trailer homes, RVs, camper trucks and three wheelers. Although Horatio knew that many vacationers traveled as groups, there was just something unusual here.

Ever the policeman besides a forensic detective, Horatio pulled the Hummer to the road side and walked across to take a look. Somehow, these vehicles didn't look like they had broken down. He strolled along the line of better parked traveling homes, down the vehicle lined lane and found a group of men sitting in folding chairs under a shade tree.

"Excuse me." He briefly brushed the skirt of his jacket aside to show his badge. "Whose vehicles are those parked on 65th Street up there?"

Two of the men silently pointed further into the park.

"What name should I be asking for?"

Of the six men, four shrugged their shoulders. Two leaned back and smirked.

'Curiouser and curiouser', thought Horatio.

He trudged along the row of behemoths parked on the park road and continued to group of trees. Now he noticed the odor of cooking food. Again, several men sat in the shade though there was no sign of a barbecue or gas stove. Seeing a movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to look at an RV's open door just fast enough to see a woman pulling back. 'So', he thought, 'this isn't a boys-only skylark.'

"Excuse me." Again he showed his badge just quickly enough to give reason for his words. "Who owns the RVs parked out on the road?"

This time, a man in the group rose from his chair and walked slowly towards the six foot detective. "I think the ones who owns those are out somewhere on the other side of the lake, maybe at the Graham Farm Village."

"They are parked illegally and posing a threat to traffic."

The man frowned and nodded. "I'll tell them if they walk past here, alright?"

The redhead raised his blue eyes upward. "Not really. I'd like to know their names."

The man looked down at the ground for a moment. His hand went to his jaw and rubbed. "You know what? I don't rightly know."

"Then I'm going to have to radio for a patrol car. If the vehicles haven't been moved by the time the officers arrive, the vehicles will be cited."

The shorter man shrugged. "You do what you have to do." He turned and strolled back to his chair.

Turning on his heel, Horatio could now feel the breeze that had been at his back. The humid air didn't do much to dry the slight bit of sweat from his brow. Retracing his steps past the homes on wheels, he now noticed each one had at least one woman peering from a window or a door. One woman was holding a plate, standing still as if waiting for him to pass so she could walk out without being seen. Many of the women had two, three or more children standing to one side, eyeing him without curiosity.

He had pulled far enough off of the other side of the road that he was able to open the car door completely without it being hit by passing traffic. Keeping an eye on the RV's, he stood with his elbow propped on the open window sill as he held the radio microphone.

Hearing that a black and white would be coming from the east down 65th, he said, "Good. I'll wait."

Replacing the mike, he stood facing the open door, stretched his arms through the open window, staring at the nearly empty road.

His mind wandered aimlessly over the sadness of the mother's loss which brought him to considering his own losses and then on to the good fortune of having his adopted family, his CSI team. Suddenly his thoughts became a holocaust of red, a volcano of molten pain and black so great he lost consciousness.

A second or perhaps a year later, the voice that came through the black cloud overlaying the bed of lava in his head. For some reason this voice kept repeating the same senseless words.

"Don't move, H! Don't move! The medics will be here in a bit so until then, don't move."

He tried to drift away from that insistent urging. He wasn't ready to fight the flames of hell.

Then, oddly, he felt himself moving with no effort and still the words, but from a different voice, "Don't try to move Lieutenant. We're putting you on a gurney. You're going to be alright. You hear me? You're going to be alright."

Finally he was awake enough to realize that part of the reason for the darkness was he had his eyes closed. The logical thought, 'so, open them,' came. It was not as easy to carry out as all that, at least, not at first. For one thing, something in the back of his head, a string maybe, seemed to be connected with his eyelids. By this time, the erupting volcano had changed to a nearby thud. If that banging, pounding drum would stop, maybe the string would release. Um, no, that didn't make sense. The huge pain was in the back of his head but there was no way it could be connected with his eyelids. He made a huge effort and slowly, there was light, then a fuzzy object.

"H? You waking up? Hey! That's great!"

Horatio wanted to ask the pedestrian question, 'what happened?' but since it was too hard, he decided to wait for whoever it was hovering over him to tell him. Since the person had called him 'H' he was one of the team. His brains were scrambled enough however, so that, figuring out who was being so familiar with him was still beyond him.

"The unis said you made a call for a patrol car to cover a traffic violation. When they arrived, they found you on the ground beside the hummer, out cold and nothing else. Your badge and sidearm are missing too. Do you know what happened?"

Trying to find a thought, Horatio rolled his slowly focusing eyes. He began to identify the tools and walls of an ambulance. Now he knew why his brain kept whining and screeching; it was the siren. Once that was put into place, he took it out of the equation and continued to put the pieces of his mind back into order. The fuzzy shape he'd seen broke into two separate globs and then gained features. One was Ryan. The second was an EMT monitoring his blood pressure and heart.

Now it was all back. His raspy voice sounded odd. "Rolling by the park, I saw two RV's parked so they presented a traffic hazard. Put a BOLO out for an RV with an Alabama license plate number 58749903. The body of the vehicle is tan with a brown striping running down the sides. The other is an RV with an Alabama license plate number 34556047. The body of that one is light blue and has two dark blue sail outlines outlined in silver." Because of his long days as a police officer, memorizing license plates was second nature to him.

Ryan scribbled down the information and then started texting on his phone.

"There were about twelve other RVs, three wheelers, and trailers pulled by other vehicles. I radioed the information about the violations and was waiting for the car."

"Yeah, they found you and called it in. Only thing is, there were no other vehicles around when we got here."

Feeling a wave of nausea hit him, Horatio closed his eyes. "No? They pulled out, huh. I'm not surprised."

The EMT spoke up here. "You got slammed pretty good in the back of the head. I'm surprised you're awake already."

Ryan looked down at his boss. "We're going to get whoever did this to you, H."

Dr. Alexx Woods gave Horatio a skeptical glance as she entered the curtained exam area. "Now you know you shouldn't be sitting up, don't you."

"I'm alright Alexx." Still, he looked sheepish under the former Miami-Dade Medical Examiner's glare.

"Not from what I've seen of the x-rays you're not. Now lie down and stay there until I say different." Alexx pushed her friend down using her elegantly long fingers. She then took the x-ray film and clipped it onto the light box on the wall.

"And the x-rays say?"

"Mild concussion." The black woman's finger traced the mark of the blow on the picture.

Horatio almost rose again. "So, not so bad."

"No! You're on my playground and so you follow my rules! Down!"

"Okay, analysis of what was done to me please."

"Sideways blow to your right occipital lobe with a heavy object. My bet is on the butt of a gun. I'd say then your head was also knocked into the top of the door to the Humvee, just above the window so, in effect you got a double whammy. Person who hit you was slightly shorter, maybe five, nine. He was muscular too."

A wave of pain feeling like the crash of a tsunami hit Horatio. "The way I'm feeling, I'd say the weapon was Hercules' club and he was a mile tall."

Alexx put a finger in front of Horatio's face. "Follow the finger with your eyes."

She shook her head.

"Does it seem like things have a halo around them?"

"You mean am I suffering from double vision? Yeah, a side effect?"

Considering you were hit in the area that makes sense of what it gets from the optic nerve I'd say yes."

"How long will that last?"

Alexx gave him one of her 'oh, puleez!' looks through her gorgeous eyelashes. "Horatio, if I could tell you that, my next trick would be making millions in the stock market because of my predictions. It's probable that following my directions exactly for the next three days or so, your vision will be fine and cure the killer headaches you're going to have."

"Headaches I'm going to have? With what I have now, I am suddenly a great believer in the power of drugs. That shot you gave me a while ago took the edge off and now I'm ready to bribe you for another."

Alexx smiled indulgently. "Oh, sweetheart, you don't have to bribe me. As long as you have a ride home, I can give you one more just before you check out."

She continued "Okay, now you can sit up. How do you feel in general?"

"Except for those bells, I think I'm alright. I'm a little sleepy, though. Not supposed to sleep with a concussion, right?"

"Wrong. Being a little sleepy with a mild concussion is normal. You'll need to stay with someone for the next couple of days though. If you sleep for more than twelve hours at a stretch, that's not good and I want you brought in immediately."

"May I borrow your cell? I was rolled. They took everything including my badge."

"Ouch!"

Horatio's fingers wavered over Alexx's cell for a moment before he dropped both hands. He looked at his longtime friend and tried unsuccessfully to smile. "Is it common to lose one's short term memory?"

"Who are you trying to call, sweetie?"

"Yelina."

"Oh, I heard she is back in the force. Are you two friendly now?"

"Unless I'm worse off than I thought, I think we're hitting it off."

"It's about time. I don't think it's your memory so much as the blessing and bane of cell phones. You didn't have to memorize her number." She retrieved the phone. "Here, let me call Calleigh. If I know her, she's got Yelina's number."

As soon as Calleigh answered, the former medical examiner handed the phone back to Horatio. She knew Calleigh would want to hear from his mouth that he was alright.

Of course, he had a few other things to tell her, like putting out a trace on his phone and starting the process of getting his badge replaced and a new gun issued.

"Did they get your backup weapon?" she asked.

Horatio checked his ankle holster. "No. Probably in too much of a hurry. That's not police business anyway."

"I know, just checking in case we needed to run a bullet trace." Calleigh's south Alabama accent was a little heavier than usual as it always was when she was under stress.

"Now, could you call Yelina for me?"

Calleigh didn't need to ask why he didn't do it for himself. In her eighth month of pregnancy, some of her thinking processes sometimes didn't work the way she thought they should. If she didn't have all of her necessary phone numbers programmed into her cell, she'd maybe be able to call home, that was all. She pulled up Yelina's number and read it to him.

"Thanks Calleigh. I should be in day after tomorrow." He looked at Alexx as he said this.

Alexx waited until he had returned her phone before saying, "That's if you come in here before reporting for work. I'll decide then."

Typically, Horatio remained silent.

"Meanwhile, you wait here for Yelina. I even recommend you indulge that sleepy feeling. Your brain got rocked inside the skull cavity and allowing it to shut down will help it to heal faster."

Alexx was leaving and about to close the curtains behind her.

Already reclining, Horatio called out, "Alexx."

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

The most sexy eyes Horatio had ever seen on a woman sparkled as her lips spread wide. The warmest voice he had ever heard, filled with friendly adoration answered, "Anytime."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Horatio was a workaholic. He knew it and so did everyone else in the lab. He loved his job and went at it like a Jack Russell terrier after a favorite toy. He showed up early at the lab everyday ready to hunt down the bad guys and often went home late and then only because his mind wouldn't work anymore. Although he'd gotten better since he started a relationship with Yelina, he still almost never took time off. This day however, he wasn't so sure he should have been so anxious to get back to work. He'd been off for almost forty-eight hours and had slept most of that time. Yelina had tried to pamper him when he was awake and though he hadn't said anything, he'd gotten impatient with it. Today, however, he thought he was strong enough to get back to work. He thought, two days, okay over a day and a half, should have been more than enough. And, this morning Alexx had grudgingly given him the okay to return for desk duty only. For the first hour, he felt fine. Now, two hours later, he wasn't fine at all. The headache was a dull regular thud and he was suffering from a severe nap attack.

"Horatio! You look awful."

He looked up to see Calleigh waddling in.

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Are you okay?"

Horatio played out the part he always expected from his team. "Headache and a desire to sleep for about fourteen hours. Other than that, I'm fine."

Having experienced concussions more than once, Calleigh sympathized. "I don't think anyone will fault you for taking a nap here in your office. We all know what it's like. I'd say go home except I know you won't."

"I think if I go to sleep now, the janitors will be dusting me off tonight."

"Tell you what, I'll give you two hours, and if you're not up on your own, I'll have Eric and Walter come in and get you up. How's that?"

Horatio closed his eyes and had trouble opening them again. "Sounds good. Before then, let me give you some things to do."

Calleigh pulled a notepad out from her jacket pocket. When Horatio gave her a look of inquiry, she grinned. "Cheat sheets. Pregnant mind misfires on occasion. Shoot!"

Horatio nodded, accepting the oddity. "I was thinking about that band of RV folk and I bet they split up. Still, I'm thinking they would travel in small groups. Although I didn't see everyone, those I did see were not elderly which is unusual for a bunch of vacationers. That would make them noticeable to the casual observer. Also, most of the mobile homes seemed to contain young families. Let Frank decide on the best way to hunt down groups of families in RVs, trailers and so on.

"Also, I was told that a replacement badge would take about five days. If you start to expedite matters, when I get up, I'll finish the job."

"How about a weapon?"

Horatio's half shut eyes closed, and were a long time opening. "Not until I'm cleared for field duty. Thanks anyway."

Calleigh flashed a grin and batted her blue-green eyes. "Rule follower!"

"Except when it comes to sleeping on the job," returned Horatio as he rose from his chair.

"No one will fault you. I did it often enough for the first few weeks."

"How are the twins doing?"

Calleigh giggled as she patted her bulge. "Fighting for space." She stood aside to let Horatio pass her on his way to the couch.

As soon as he reached the black six foot long piece of furniture, he threw himself down.

Calleigh could swear she could hear him breathing heavily before he drew his feet up.

Since she hadn't been told not to, before she talked to Frank, she walked through the entire lab and warned everyone to not call Horatio for the next two hours. Then she called Eric, Natalia who were out in the field, as well as Ryan, who was still going through the Amelia Earhart Park hoping to find more evidence. Everyone was absolutely sympathetic, even the ones who had never suffered a severe blow to the head. All promised to guard their boss' peace and quiet as rigorously as they performed the rest of their duties.

Walking to the elevator, Calleigh swore she had never heard so much quiet on this floor.

The feeling of accomplishment was short lived, however.

Frank was in his cubby hole as usual and laboriously poking at the keyboard to his computer.

"Hey, love, Horatio wants us to refine that BOLO on those RVs." Her southern accent wound around the words making them a charming song.

Frank's heavy Texan twang was a perfect counterpoint beat. He rose and pushed his large office chair to her. "Sure, you sit here and let me use this one." He lowered himself onto the straight backed, less sturdy seat by the side of the desk."

Calleigh tried hard not to sigh in frustration. "No thanks, I'd rather stand for now. I'm fine."

Frank stood and tried to guide her to the large piece of furniture he'd offered her. "You should be sitting at every opportunity, little momma. Momma and kids all get the royal treatment."

"I sit doing lab work most of the day and the doctor says if I don't get off my fanny and do mild exercise, even if it is just standing, I'll end up with all kinds of circulation problems."

"Nuts to the doctor. Sit down."

"Frank, can we talk about this tonight? Horatio isn't feeling well and needs our help."

As she knew it would, the plea turned Frank's thoughts from her.

"What's he need?"

"He thinks those people in the mobile homes probably split into a couple of groups. He noticed they aren't a bunch of senior citizens and that alone would be uncommon. He also noticed a kind of closed off protectiveness which indicates they wouldn't have each gone their separate ways, at least, not for any length of time."

Frank almost spoke, stopped himself and then said, "Okay, I'll get right on that. By the way, did you know that there were two B and E's reported in the neighborhood that sits across 65th Street from the park? They happened two days ago."

"When Horatio was attacked?"

"From what we got, the timing would have been in the morning, just before he arrived."

"I'll call Ryan and see when he can go talk to the homeowners. If you have any questions on the BOLO modification, call me. Horatio is incommunicado for the next two hours."

Frank rose and bent down to kiss his beautiful, blond wife on her forehead. "I'll make you a deal; if you call Ryan from a seated position, I'll promise not to call Horatio."

Calleigh looked up from her five foot three inch height to her six foot four inch tall husband. Without her usual ultra high heels on, it was a real stretch to her neck. Still, the distance was not so far that he couldn't see the anger on her face very plainly. "Frank, don't you ever use our friends or our children as bargaining chips. Now, I'm going back upstairs and do my job so you can do yours. Tonight, when we're home together, we've got a few things to talk about." She wheeled around and walked as quickly as she could to the elevator.

Frank watched his wife's still attractive backside until she turned a corner. Then he sat down, propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and stared blindly at the wall of his cubby. Being in love with a beautiful woman was wonderful. Loving a beautiful, pregnant woman was a puzzle.

Upstairs, as soon as the elevator doors opened, Calleigh rushed to the bathroom and into a stall. She sat down without lowering her pants. She didn't need to relieve herself, she needed time to cry.

No sooner had she started to blubber, Calleigh heard someone enter. She raised her hand to her wet face to stifle her sounds.

"Calleigh?" Yelina's warm voice called out. "Are you in here?"

Calleigh rose and opened the stall door.

"I saw you rush out of the squad room. I know that look. I think every pregnant woman in history has worn that face at least once."

Calleigh turned to look at her red nose and weeping eyes in the mirror. "How many times for you?"

"Married to a man like Ray, more than my share. What started it for you? No, wait, I know it was Frank so let me ask, what did he do to put you in this state?"

"Oh, it's not his fault. He's the finest police officer I've ever known and my own personal dream man. It's just that he has this tendency to be overprotective. The rest of the team had settled down and they all treat me like they always have. Well, the guys pull out chairs and they all ask if I need anything when I sit down for lunch, but that's all. I know Frank loves me to distraction and was dumbfounded with joy when we discovered I was carrying twins. He only calmed down a little when we found it was going to be boys."

"But?"

"I can't get him to stop treating me like I'm a soap bubble he can't replace. I can't get close to him without being told to sit, drink fluid, put my feet up."

Yelina nodded. "All very well at home, but not at work."

"Exactly."

"I don't know how to take this. I mean, I know what to do with mistreatment, being called names, kidnapped, shot at. I don't know how to tell Frank to stop treating me with kindness." The words brought more tears forcing her to grab for a tissue. "He means so well and I'm about to snap."

The bathroom door opened again and Maxine Valera walked in. "Snap what?"

Both women looked at her silently.

Maxine bright brown eyes opened wide in consternation. "Oh, am I interrupting? I can use the other bathroom."

Calleigh shook her head and motioned Maxine to approach. "I'm just boo-hooing about being treated so well by Frank."

Maxine looked from Calleigh to Yelina, at a loss. Suddenly she turned to enter one of the stalls and said, "Look, I really gotta go so please, tell while I do. I'll be right out."

Ten minutes later all three women were laughing. Yelina and then Calleigh had each gone into one of the stalls, all talking the entire while. Calleigh had cried a few more tears and Maxine wondered if Eric would ever show such care if she should ever got pregnant.

Calleigh reminded her of what he had done for his sister Marisol before she had met Horatio. "For someone so died-in-the-wool cop as Eric to buy marijuana just so his sister wouldn't feel the pain of cancer was total devotion. Yeah, I'd say being a father would bring out his softer side big time. Why, are you thinking about it?"

Maxine's expressive mouth dropped open before she could form the words, "Good grief, no! I'm not sure if I ever… We haven't even discussed it!"

"They say pregnancy is catching, you know."

Maxine backed away, smiling. "Yelina! Are you?"

Yelina blushed. "Hardly."

All three women burst out laughing again.

Calleigh had heisted herself onto the counter and now lowered herself down. "Boy! Bathroom counseling is the best. We ought to put a light out in the hallway so that when one of us needs a boost we flip a switch, walk in, and wait. Thanks guys."

"Any time." Yelina gave her a light hug.

Maxine laid a hand on her shoulder. "Its good to be more than a lab rat sometimes."

Calleigh rubbed her hands together. "Well, off to work, my way."

After talking with Ryan, Calleigh took another call. Five minutes later, she was giving Eric an address. "It sounds gruesome Eric so don't stop to get anything to eat before you arrive."

Eric Delko was intrigued by Calleigh's words. She seldom mentioned anything about a crime scene.

As it happened so often, the body was in a nightclub. In this case it was The Tree House. Though he had never been to this particular club, Eric had heard of it. He had little doubt it would be another flash in the pan; extremely popular for a few months and then, once the novelty of the décor wore off, closed for business. This crime, whatever it was, would no doubt hasten the demise.

In the dark interior, the first room was a small waiting area. The décor was rough hewn boards on the walls put together in a slapdash way, meant to give the feeling of a child's tree house. This was probably where you got to sit after standing for a couple of hours in the queue outside. Here you could relax for another hour or so and buy expensive drinks. The problem was, you could not hear the music so well or be able to dance. Once a table opened up inside, you, and whatever posse you had with you, were seated, and that's when the party started.

Now, the tiny front room wasn't filled with waiting revelers; instead, there were only a few men and women, sitting closely in several clumps on the bright red plastic bench couches. They all looked distraught. Three uniformed officers were asking questions and writing down answers. One woman who looked particularly upset was picking at her hair and her shoulders, feeling at a dark substance spattered in unequal bits.

Pushing through the swinging doors, Eric found the large room. Here, the pillars looked like tree trunks and lighting was fixtures inside of boxes meant to look like windows filled with leaves and flowers. The empty club was filled with tables that looked like they'd been pulled from junk heaps and chairs that looked like wooden or cardboard crates. Only the dance floor at one end contained a few police officers, uniforms keeping a perimeter and detectives standing in a semicircle. They were all looking down.

The primary officer from MDPD, Brewton, looked up. "Are you the only one from the lab?"

Acknowledging the man, he answered, "Ryan is still trying to find evidence on who conked H, Calleigh can't come, and Natalia is in court testifying on a previous case. It's Walter's day off. What? You worried I can't handle a little death sce—" He stopped short and swallowed hard as he looked at the dead man. The top of the man's head was literally missing. "Oh jeez! That's ugly! What's the story?"

"Meet Mr. Morgan Dowd. Last night, the club had been bought out by one of the largest singles' mixers organizations in Miami. Morgan was an attendee. From what the witnesses say, he was dancing at about three this morning when suddenly his head exploded. To say the least, the several women who were dancing with him are rather upset."

Eric had dropped to one knee to examine the body. "I bet they are. Well, you guys take off the booties from your shoes and leave them at the front door and I'll find as much as I can. Have someone turn up the lights."

Just at that moment, Eric felt something drop on his head.

"Hey, Brewton, take a look. Is that what I think it is?"

The lean black man bent over to look at Eric's hair. "If you mean a piece of bloody scalp, yes. Give me a glove from your kit."

Putting the gory bit into an evidence bag, Brewton looked up. "It might be a good idea to get a ladder before turning up the lights. We'll need to get what's up there. The heat from them would cook the evidence, don't you think?"

Eric stood and looked up. Lowering his head, he shut his eyes and shook his head. 'Why me?' he thought. "Yeah, go ask whoever runs this joint to get me ladder; I'll dig the flashlight out of my kit. The piece that fell onto my head is probably contaminated anyway."

"Oh Eric, was it as bad as it sounded?"

"Not really." The man of Cuban-Russian descent leaned against Calleigh's counter. "Especially not compared with gun shots to the gut."

"Ew, yeah, that lower intestine smell!"

"It was messy. I had to climb a ladder and get hair and scalp from the chandeliers and tree branches and vines that decorated the place."

"Oh, that must have been fun."

"Once I got the immediate area around the body done, I got to clean off several of the dancers that were nearest the victim when his head went off."

Calleigh burst into laughter. "I shouldn't be laughing. That had to be awful for those women. Or were there men too?"

Eric smiled with half of his face as he so often did and shook his head no. "There's always more single women than men at these things. From what I gathered, by that time, each man was surrounded by his own harem. No, all of the spatter that I could find, anyway, was on the women. One seemed to have gotten most of it. I was an hour working through her hair extensions. Then I had to wait for a relative to show up with a change of clothes so I could take her dress."

He smiled even more broadly at a memory. "It got even more tricky after a while because some of the material had actually fallen down in between her boo—breasts."

Calleigh couldn't help but inquire. "And how did you handle that?"

Eric almost contained his grin. "Professionally! Actually, I had a female officer use a scraper and then the swab. I stood outside of the bathroom like a good boy."

"Did you find anything interesting?"

"Only that he was wearing a wig. I think that was the source of whatever blew his skull off. I'll have to get it all into the lab to look at it. When do you think H will be available? I'm going to need his expertise on explosives."

"He's up now."

"I'll try to get the pieces together before I call on him. Is he okay?"

Calleigh always had a smile on her face unless she was facing down a criminal. Those who knew her best could read the smiles like magazines. The smile now was how she looked when speaking of a loved friend. "He's alright. He won't admit when he's in bad shape. The thing is, he gets wobbly. We just have to watch for those wobbles and wait for them to pass."

"I'll call Alexx to come down if he looks really bad. I bet she'd find time to make a house call for Horatio. I've seen him knuckle under to her a couple of times."

"Good thinking. Well, look, if you don't mind, I'll go fill Horatio in on your club scene while you see what you can do with the wig."

"Yeah, will do. Oh! How's Ryan doing in the Park?"

"We had to expand it. There were a couple of break and enters in the homes across the street that same morning that Horatio was attacked. We're hoping to interview anyone who might have seen anyone. We had to call in Walter from his day off to help cover the area."

"He must love that."

Calleigh beamed, batting her blue-green eyes and shrugged. "The joys of being a CSI."

A few moments later, Calleigh was sitting across from Horatio asking, "How are you doing?"

"Its amazing what a little more sleep than the twenty-four hours or so I'd had already will do."

"Look, we've got everything going fine here. If you want to take another day, feel free."

Horatio looked down at his hands that were clapped flat together on his desk. "Gee, thanks boss, I appreciate the offer."

Calleigh could see she was pushing their partnership so she gave him an out. "On the other hand, if you feel up to it, Eric has an interesting thing that blew off the top of a man's head."

To Calleigh, the new life in Horatio's sky blue eyes was what she had aimed for. His thick taffy eyebrows rose as he leaned forward just a bit. Even his freckled cheeks took on a healthier bloom. "Tell me about it."

"That's all I know for now. Eric is looking at the pieces now."

Calleigh's phone rang. "Yes, Ryan?" After a pause she said, "Look, call Horatio on his phone. I think he'll want to hear about this."

No sooner had she closed her phone than Horatio's jacket pocket twittered softly. He had already been reaching for it so it didn't finish the first signaling before he was asking, "Mr. Wolf, what have you got?"

At five foot nine inches tall, Ryan Wolfe stood comfortably in Walter Simmons' six foot six inch shadow. "H, it's not much besides the two B and E's. We talked with the home owners and they were gone when both occurred. We dusted for fingerprints and found none. Of course, no one saw anything. One thing though is that most of the houses in the area had business cards left at doors in the screens or under the mats. Apparently whoever left the cards made no effort to contact the homeowners by ringing the door bells. Many of the owners enter their houses through their garages and never use their front door except when someone knocks. So when they opened to us and found the cards, it was a surprise."

"It's possible then that whoever was leaving the cards simply took chances on a couple of homes and helped themselves."

"That's what Walter and I think. It's also likely they were part of that trailer gang. They were returning across the green between the houses and the road, saw you and decided you were a threat."

Horatio's hand involuntarily strayed to the scab at the back of his head. "It was a straight line from the houses to me to the travel homes so, that's a reasonable connection.

"When you finish out there, bring in the cards. Thank you."

"Sure thing, H."

Pocketing his phone, he briefly filled Calleigh in on the information.

"Frank refined the BOLO. As long as these people are in southern Florida, we should be able to locate them."

"Any information on badge replacement?"

"On it's way as we speak. I was told it should be in your box tomorrow morning."

"I'll see Alexx tomorrow."

"And I'll have a weapon ready for issue."

The two were walking down the short flight of stairs from Horatio's office to the lab's main floor as they talked.

"I'm going to go see what Eric has."

"And I'm going to go out for a half hour walk."

"Good girl. Don't get lost."

"H, just the man I wanted to see." Eric smiled.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Eric looked up from the counter. "Take a look at this. This is what our nightclub victim, Morgan Dowd, was wearing on his head, or at least pieces of it."

First donning a white coat and rubber gloves, Horatio picked up a few pieces of the hair and loose weave fabric and examined them. Then he laid a piece under a microscope. Next he picked up a pair of tweezers and manipulated the bit of wig on the slide. "Eric, look here and tell me what you see."

Eric put his eyes to the twin eyepiece, "Thin copper wire in the hair."

Horatio stepped in and moved the piece again. "Did you notice the waxy substance on the edge of the weave?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Is that what I think it is?"

"If you're thinking C-4, I'd say you're right. Run a test for it."

"But just an electric current won't make plastic explosive blow up. You have to have a wow of a heat source. Besides, unless he was plugged into something, what were the wires for?"

Horatio's headache had disappeared. He felt a sense of energy surge through his body and mind. The thrill of the chase was what he felt now. "That, Eric, is somewhere in all the rest of these bits and pieces.

Six hours later, they were voicing what they had found, looking for holes in the information.

Eric said it first, "From what the maker's tag said, the wig came from a place called Barton's Hair. Morgan Dowd is a black man with a severely receding hairline. He goes to Barton's Hair and gets what I would call an extreme toupee; the hair combed way out. I guess he was a fan of that boxing promoter, Don King."

"Yes, Don King always wore the crown of his hair standing on end, didn't he?"

"I guess, I've only seen pictures.

Anyway, so they make him one but smush a thin layer of C-4 into the weave and then they add another layer of weave, maybe to hide the plastic explosive. Then, to the hair on top, they sprinkle black powder from what may be a road flare. Then, they hide this transmitter from an old cell phone connected to small battery and a few electric wires."

"That was easy to do, Eric, because of the density of the hair."

"Then, while he's playing Fred Astaire to four or five women at the club, the killer calls the cell transmitter which heats the wires which sets off the black powder. That is what is hot enough to cause the plastic to blow and takes the top of his head off."

Horatio was leaning against the central table in the lab, his left arm wrapped around his waist, his right elbow balanced on the left wrist. He had the knuckle of his right forefinger jammed against his lip while his eyes envisioned each point of Eric's explanation.

Once Eric was finished, Horatio considered every phrase before he spoke around his knuckle. "I know Barton's. They specialize in hair pieces for men of color. We'll have to go interview whoever took the order from Dowd and then follow the progress of the toupee until he picked it up."

"I'll go first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, before I leave today, I'll see what more I can find on Dowd's personal background. He had no relatives on record and the police said he lived alone."

Eric's face suddenly showed sadness. "You don't think he did this to himself?"

Stripping off his gloves and putting his hands in the lab coat pockets, Horatio shook his head. "He was in the middle of a joyous moment. He was dressed for a party and having the time of his life. If he was going to kill himself, he'd do it at home where he could be alone."

"This is a peculiar way to kill someone."

"Very specific too. Whoever did this knew something about Dowd and his habits."

"And thought they had a good reason to kill him. Do you want me to tell you about what I find on him?"

"Tomorrow. If I'm going to pass medical inspection in the morning, I have to go get my beauty sleep."

Knowing exactly how his boss felt from his own past experience, Eric nodded. "Sure H, I'll see you in the morning. You take care."

Watching the lead detective for the entire Miami-Dade Crime Scene Investigation unit walk out pulling his phone from his pocket, Eric was fifty-fifty on hopes for the man's return in the morning. Blows to the head were tricky things especially when they were severe enough to knock you out. He never thought a whole lot about getting hit until he'd been shot in the head. Though it had seemed like he'd recovered quickly, he hadn't and now, every blow gave less returns on chances of full recovery. Well, H was strong as a bull and was certainly healthy. Yes, he'd probably be back tomorrow. Eric turned to the computer.

xxxx

When Calleigh arrived home late that afternoon, she was fairly certain of how she needed to approach Frank. The walk she had gone on earlier that day was not only for her physical health; she had needed to clear her mind. The situation between them needed honesty; that was certain. The problem was which part of honesty was needed here? Just telling her dear giant husband to lay off of her, give her some space would be honest, but really, would it accomplish anything?

Pulling her Jeep into the cavernous garage, she closed the garage door before unlocking her car doors. As empty as the room was, no one could hide in there so once the place was secure, she felt confident in climbing out. They would put in more security systems as time went on.

Retrieving bags from the passenger side, a short walk took her to the steps to the kitchen door. Even though she wasn't all that fond yet of their rather large home, having to carry groceries only a few steps was a great feature. She had yet to master bags, purse and keys in smooth procedure so it took her a few moments before she was inside and heaving the grocery sacks onto the counter.

Once again, looking around, Calleigh wondered how she let Frank talk her into this place. Yes, they needed a bigger house for when the boys were born. After years of living in studio apartments and one bedroom places with kitchenettes, she had become the master at making them comfortable and homey. This place, in her mind, was like comparing the Taj Mahal to a cardboard box. It was all very nice and yet, so very much!

Frank had kept pointing out that, as a southern belle, she had every right to a mansion. Yeah, right; it didn't have one thing to do with his Texas taste for size. Calleigh shook her head wearily. And now she was completely off the point. She liked the house and would come to love it, she knew. How to stop Frank's concern for her from spilling into her territory, her work place?

She was just at this point in her thoughts, had just put the last jar on the shelf in the pantry when she heard the quiet grind of the garage door opener and the lesser purr as Frank's car pulled in.

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on Calleigh's old couch which was placed tiny and centered in the spacious living room. Frank's size twelves were on her old coffee table and she was nestled against his chest. As usual, they were talking about their day, not quite talking business, filling each other in on their stress levels more than anything else.

As she knew he would, Frank eventually said the trigger words. "And you have been sitting and taking care of yourself, I hope?"

Abruptly pushing herself erect, without standing she moved herself onto the coffee table so she could face Frank. "My love, can we talk?"

If Calleigh had been any other woman, Frank would have wanted to shrink into his shoes and slide away. He knew from experience that when most women want to talk, they want to vent, they want to argue, complain, to get mad, and to raise their voices. For any other woman, Frank would immediately have remembered an appointment in Istanbul, had an important phone call that would go on for at least three days, anything to get away. Instead, he replied, "We'll always be able to talk, darlin'."

"Frank, I would hope you know I love being loved and pampered and cared for by you."

"That's good, 'cause I'll never stop."

"Oh, yes you will stop, at least when I'm at work. Today was almost too much for me to stand. It was fine that you offered me the big chair. You're always a gentleman. The thing is, I refused and then you insisted like I was some child who didn't know when she was tired."

"I was just trying to take care of you."

"Frank, when we're through here, you can go upstairs, draw me a bath, come back down, start dinner, go back up, rub my shoulders for a while, set the table, and then come help me climb out of the tub. Here, at home, any time, or any place before I clock in at work and after I clock out you can pamper me all you like."

"But leave you alone at work." Frank's face, as usual, was expressionless not giving Calleigh a clue as to how he was feeling about this.

"Frank, sweetheart, did I say anything about being left alone? You just can't tell me what to do, is all."

Her husband of six and a half months took one of her hands in both of his. He spent some time examining the smaller paw in his huge ones before speaking. "Honey, I can't promise that. I know. I know that telling you what to do is like spitting into the wind; I'm not going to like what happens. Its also useless and it makes you mad."

"I hear the 'but' so drop it now."

Frank smiled at being known so well. "Do you have any idea how lucky I feel to have you in my life? I feel like I've been unanimously elected king of the universe, been made the richest man in the world and every other good thing. You are the most wonderful person and…" he paused and looked up.

Calleigh was shocked to see tears in Frank's eyes.

Not paying attention to his emotions, he continued. "Its bad enough that we work at the kind of job we have. It puts my guts in a twist when I think of what can happen to you. It's worse now that you're pregnant."

"Frank, I love what I do. I wouldn't change for anything."

"And that's the dumb part, Cal, I don't want you to. I know how much the work means to you, how happy it makes you. I'm just telling you how I feel and I guess that what I'm saying is that telling you what to do is my clodhopper way of trying to protect you." He now had two trails of tears dripping from his eyes.

Calleigh giggled and asked, "So, does that mean you won't stop?"

"Oh, I'll try to stop even if I have to tape my mouth shut every time I see you at work."

Calleigh blinked twice and a third time. This time her smile read, 'I'm satisfied with what I've heard.' She rose to her feet and took a wrinkled tissue from her pocket, bent down and wiped the wet from Frank's face. "I love you."

They kissed. First it was a tap of the lips, then a smack and then a lasting passionate lip-lock that went on for some time. Finally, Frank asked in a husky voice, "Are you hungry or can you wait a while longer? Before I take care of you, I'd like to be taken care of, just a little."

Calleigh stood and started walking out to the foyer and to the stairs. Looking playfully over her shoulder, she said huskily, "I can wait. Come on, I'll see what I can do."

xxxx

Across town, on a quiet street filled with smaller but no less smart homes, Yelina was pulling her car into the driveway. She had long ago given up using the carport as a place for the car. Now it was storage for her son Ray's things, some gardening utensils, things that would one day go to thrift shops and so on.

Horatio climbed slowly out of the other side. During the short trip from the lab, the length of the day had seemed to double in his body. He felt old, decrepit. He didn't even have the strength to answer Yelina's polite inquiries about how he felt. No, that wasn't it, not entirely; he hadn't wanted to discuss how he felt. Something about being questioned on his wellbeing rubbed him the wrong way.

Although Yelina didn't rush to his side, she had walked directly around and offered support on the short walk to the front door.

"Yelina, thank you, but, really, I'm fine." He didn't quite shove her proffered hand away, but he came close.

"I'm sure you are. I'm just here, if you need me. You said it felt like a long day."

Horatio found he was gritting his teeth, regretting his words. He looked directly into Yelina's dark hazel eyes. In her high heels, she was as tall as he was. What could he say? He felt like hell but he was damned if he was going to give in to it. He had appreciated Yelina's care when all he had to was sleep. Now, being helped physically? He'd been a loner too long to allow that. He almost wished he had his car so he could go to his apartment and just fade into the bed for the night. Until Alexx gave him the okay, however, that was a no-no, even for a mild concussion. He had to have someone with him and that lack of freedom grated on his whole sense of being.

Yelina stepped ahead and unlocked the door. "Horatio, it's no shame to have been hurt. You're recovering, I can see that. You're just not there yet. Why fight it?"

What he was fighting was the urge to squeeze his jaws so tight his teeth would pop like pearls. "I'm fine. Let me be, please. I'm going to go take a shower. Alright?" He brushed past the shocked woman. He was unaware of how his brows were knit in a dark and angry face.

Yelina, if she had been weaker, would have burst into tears at that moment. How many times had Ray stomped off, fuming at nothing in particular, claiming the need to do something other than answer her? She had felt hurt when Ray had done it and now, here Horatio, the different, more grown up brother had done the same! Without realizing it, she had slumped against the wall just inside the door, as if he had shoved her aside the way Ray had sometimes done.

Seconds later, regaining her composure, she lifted herself and walked doggedly through the living room throwing off her jacket. She pulled open the French doors and stared blindly onto the patio. A light 'sun shower' had begun to fall which gave the palms, elephant ear plants and the rest that dewy look of her northern South American homeland. It also cooled the hot, sticky afternoon air which would last into the evening.

Unconscious of the passage of time, when she heard Horatio's voice, she realized she had been standing stalk still, staring out at the mass of green and bits of color long enough for the redhead to have showered and returned to the living room.

"Yelina?"

Yelina turned slowly to regard this man who had been her lover for the last six months or so. Well, at least he was not carrying that poor puppy dog look that Ray so often affected. That look that said, 'I've been bad and I don't understand how, but I promise I'll be good if you just give me kisses.'

"Yes, Horatio?"

"I apologize for the silent treatment. I am tired and I'll fight help six ways from Sunday. I think you knew that."

"I did, but it's better to hear it in a civilized manner." She tried to smile and knew she wasn't doing a good job of it.

"You know what? I think I'm just going to make a sandwich and then go to bed."

Yelina knew better than to offer to make anything. Horatio, once he stated an intent, could seldom be swerved. She nodded and followed him, thinking of what she would make for herself in the way of food.

"How early does Alexx get to the ER?"

"Before anytime we can think of to get there." Horatio smiled gently. "Let's just start out thirty minutes earlier than usual. Would that be alright?"

"Fine by me."

Each continued at food gathering and preparation, weaving around the other, reaching over or waiting for the other to move. Neither said anything for some time until, just before Horatio was ready to halve his sliced turkey, tomato and lettuce sandwich.

"Yelina, you're still bothered, aren't you?"

She had to stop cutting the green bell pepper for a moment to think how she should answer. Finally she said, "I am."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Let's not overdo it. It could be there's not a lot to talk about."

"I agree. Let's eat first."

They sat compatibly at the small patio table. Yelina lit a candle between them. It was the kind often used in restaurants, in a yellow glass bowl with white netting around it. She also turned on the tiny patio lights that were more for atmosphere than for an aid in seeing. As usual, like Frank and Calleigh had earlier, they talked not so much of the work of the day, but how the work affected them. They talked 'cop talk'.

Finally, as Yelina crunched her last bit of salad and Horatio wiped a smear of mustard from his chin, they looked at each other, knowing it was time to have a real conversation.

xxxx

Alexx made a mark on a sheet and asked, "So, you slept ten hours last night. Feel any need for more?"

"Not yet. I don't have a headache and feel fine now."

Alexx turned to Yelina. Did he seem to struggle getting up?"

"No. He seemed to rise like he did before he got hit, took very little time to shower and shave and get dressed. He even got up once during the night."

Alexx had already checked his vision using an eye chart. "Well, dear heart, it looks like you're doing splendidly. How you keep coming back, I don't know." She moved to a moving cart that carried a computer and printer. Tapping a few times, she handed Horatio the paper the printer spit out. "Here's your permission to resume full duty."

Horatio hopped off of the exam table and gave Alexx a brief hug. "Thanks Mum."

Giving Horatio a kiss on his cheek she warned, "Dinner, both of you, my house next Thursday."

She had turned away before catching the look between them.

"Calleigh, I'm glad you're here. I just got a call on a new case. "I've been cleared for duty. Would you please issue me a new sidearm?"

"That's good news! Sure, one new glock coming up. I see you have the badge already." Calleigh could still walk with a perky bounce, especially when she was headed for the gun locker.

Returning quickly and handing him the gun, she assured, "I tested it out yesterday. It hits about a millimeter to the right of true at fifty feet."

Horatio shrugged. "I can live with that. The last one was nearly two."

"Just in time too. We got a call on another case this morning."

"What is it?"

"Naked dead body found in a flower patch at one of those community vegetable gardens."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Horatio Caine would not have described the feeling of ascending on a new crime scene as exhilarating so much as a bonus to his senses. He saw details more clearly; he made connections between dissonant bits of what could be detritus or could be evidence; his sense of smell was heightened as well touch (albeit through plastic gloves). About the only sense he didn't use was the one of taste. There had been a time, when as a blue in New York, tasting was a typical way to identify certain elements. Since then, however, tasting had been found to be foolishly unwise, even dangerous.

Getting out of the silver Hummer, he first got a feel for the area in general. The location of the scene was in the center of a nicely kept community garden near a shopping area off of SW 8th Avenue and SW 1st Avenue near the art district. The lot was long and narrow, shouldered on each side by two story brick buildings. One of the buildings sported a vivid mural of a sun centered in a tropical beach scene.

Before he walked down the center path, Horatio stood on the sidewalk, and took in the street in general feeling the Miami morning sun warm on his back. He was unconscious that his hands were at his hips, each placed evenly behind his gold badge at the front of his hip and his holster on his other side. He was unconcerned that he cut a fascinating figure, his red hair contrasting to the light grey slacks and jacket with a green shirt. The sidewalk from one building to the next had been taped off to keep the crowds back.

The garden itself was edged with a four foot chain link fence. In the center was a wrought iron arch of black with bright gold suns around it. Only after being sure he had observed all there was on the street did he swing his gaze slowly to the gardens. From what he could see, there were fourteen separate plots each divided by narrow paths radiating from the center. Some of the plots were barely five feet square and some were perhaps twelve. Some were thriving and some were more weed than anything edible.

Having taken in this much from the curb, Horatio then walked slowly down the wide main path. The center was a plot, raised perhaps a foot from the rest of the ground, and about seven feet in diameter. It contained a variety of summer flowers and colorful leaf plants. There were three garden benches around it, two of wrought iron and one of cement.

Laid out quite formally was the naked body he'd been called about. Horatio bet that the head was perfectly aligned to the north. The legs were together and the arms were folded across the chest as would be in any casket. Aside from the fact that the man was naked as the day he was born, his face was frozen into a look of ghastly agony. His dark brown eyes, now frosted over showing hours of death, were wide open as was his mouth.

Horatio looked at the flowers and plants, and the way the body was posed. The formality did not overcome the horror in the face. Whoever had brought him here felt regret for how he had died, had tried to make amends in some way. Why not bury him? Why not rent a boat and give the man a burial at sea?

He considered the location. The garden was one of those pieces of land where someone starts cleaning it up and another comes in to help and another and so on. After a while, people make donations to purchase the land, provide for tools and a variety of sundry items and the area became a community garden. What, he wondered, was the significance of laying the man here? It was a public statement, to say the least, in more ways than one. The puzzle was, which statements were being made? 'Here's my friend; I killed him, now you take care of him,' was one possibility. 'See what happens to people who cross me,' was another. Perhaps it was a comment on the garden itself.

None of the people who had found him or who had since passed through the area knew him. That too was odd. Usually, when a killer is making a statement about his victim, he wants the friends to know; thus, he puts the body someplace where friends and family will see what the murderer is capable of.

This is, assuming, the man was murdered. Maybe he wasn't. How dying with such a look could be accidental, Horatio didn't know. All he could do was start taking pictures and then taking a look at what the police officers had marked in the way of evidence. If he was lucky, there would be more than first met the eye.

Unfortunately, the walkways around the flowerbed and throughout the garden were covered in crushed oyster shells. This was the usual covering of choice since oysters were in such plentitude both sides of the Florida coast and into the Gulf of Mexico. Like gravel, crushed shells didn't hold footprints. Nor were there drag marks.

Snapping distant and close pictures as he went, he kept looking for that little bit that would point to something else that could lead ultimately to the killer.

"Hey, Horatio, sorry I couldn't get here any sooner. There's a bit of a backup in the morgue."

"No problem, Dr. Loman. This is one where the more time I have, the better. Look and tell me what you think."

Tom Loman, the Miami-Dade Medical Examiner, moved onto the plot and kneeled down beside the body. He paid no attention to the flowers he was crushing. Taking an instrument from his case, he plunged the pointed end into the right side of the abdomen just below the rib cage. "Liver temp says he's been dead about fourteen hours. He obviously died in terrible pain. I don't see anything on the front of his body."

Inching backwards and, slipping his hands under the shoulders and the hips, the doctor pulled the body so that it rolled onto its side towards him. "No secondary lividity so he died on his back. Nor do I see any marks or bruising that would indicate a cause of death. That's only cursory, of course. My first guess at this point is that he died of an internal cause. He's about thirty-five to forty and only mildly overweight so, unless his total diet was Twinkies and hot wings, he didn't die of a heart attack. One never knows though."

Tom stood and motioned to his aides to take the body. "To say the least, Horatio, working with the CSI team is always interesting."

Horatio watched the body being lifted into the black bag. He lifted his hands to his waist and listened to that gritty sound of the closing zipper. Raising his sunglass protected eyes to the morning sky, he answered, "I wish it wasn't so, Tom. I wish it wasn't so."

Horatio was almost finished with exploring the garden, looking for anything that would give him something to work with when Frank walked up. "Some of the people out there are worried about inch-worms and squash bugs and I don't know what all. If we tape off the center, can we let them in to tend their gardens?"

"Sure, Frank. Has anyone come up with anything?"

"Other than the fact that half the neighborhood is inhabited by guys that are a little light in their feet, arty types, new age health types that need weights in their shoes, and so on, no. Several have said the man couldn't have been from the neighborhood since everyone seems to know everyone."

"Yes, in an area where likeminded people congregate, such as this, it's like a small town; everyone knows everyone else at least by sight if not by name and bent."

"So, if he's not from here, what's next? Fingerprints?"

"That and something else. The pool of people here isn't large enough to cover the whole area. I'm going to send our forensic artist down to the morgue. Hopefully he can reconstruct the features as they would have been in life."

"Then take copies and do a little knock and talk."

"I'm guessing you eliminate the immediate two block radius and spread out from there for about four blocks."

"You're basing that on the local witnesses who don't know him?"

"If there is any connection between the body and the area, he lived outside of the immediate neighborhood. Fortunately, though this area is more of a melting pot the outer areas are more divided. The gay and lesbian population lives closer to Brickell, south of 8th Street, the art walk is by the Miami Riverwalk, and there are several studios for various kinds of body work from Reiki, to Swedish with a variety of Yoga, and satellite body disciplines in between the two areas."

Frank's face showed a cross between admiration and disbelief. "You know where all this stuff is?"

"We've had a case or two in the area. I also get a massage now and then."

"Just don't tell me you do Yoga."

Horatio's slight imperfection under his left eye twitched a minute blink. "I'll let you know when I have the artist's rendition." He was striding off before Frank could bid him farewell.

xxxx

"Right now H, we're coming up with nothing on who hit you or who the trailer folk are." Ryan was still feeling the hike through a large neighborhood from yesterday. "We don't even have a hit on the fingerprints on the business cards."

"It's no wonder. Whoever hit me was shorter but still had the upper body strength to strike hard enough to knock me out. That would indicate a young male, perhaps one too young to have a driver's license."

"Walter is working on something the doc sent up on that body."

"Already? Excuse me just one moment, Ryan."

Horatio pulled his phone out and made a call. "Dr. Loman? Are you starting an autopsy on the body from the garden? I thought you were going to wait for the artist to do a facial reconstruction."

He nodded. "Then what did you send us?"

He nodded again. "Good. I'm glad you did that. Thank you."

The detective turned back to Ryan. "I'm sorry for the interruption, Mr. Wolfe. Please continue."

"I was just saying that Walter was going to check on what results from the BOLO might have come in. In his stead, I was just about to do it."

The two men, redheaded and dark, stepped into the computer lab.

As soon as Ryan pulled up the BOLO results, a red lined screen appeared showing a license plate in bold. Under that was some information. "It looks like we got a hit on one of the plates. It's the tan RV with the brown stripe." Ryan's eyes ran across the information. "It's owned by Seth McCauber. It was found at a garage in Homestead."

"Let's see, that's about a forty-five minute trip."

Ryan's large brown eyes showed he knew what he had to do. "I'll give you a call after I'm through with Mr. McCauber."

"Good. Be sure he's thoroughly done before you leave there."

"I'll commandeer a patrol unit down there just in case." Ryan said these words over his shoulder as he headed for the elevator.

Horatio watched the handsome young man until the doors closed. Ryan had grown into one of the best detectives on the team. He'd come directly from patrol (after a stop to get a degree in chemistry) to the team. He'd made mistakes and learned from every one of them. He'd been through a variety of physical mishaps like the rest of the team and now was a field tough veteran. Though he sometimes joked about being the shortest man, everyone knew he had no doubts as to his value to them all.

"Horatio, I just heard you and Ryan got something on the BOLO for the RV's."

"Yes Walter. Ryan is going down to Homestead now to check it out. And did you find anything on the blood sample Tom gave you on our flower plot man?"

"No. the DNA isn't listed and there's nothing unusual about it. Now I'm waiting for samples from the stomach. I understand that will take a while."

"Just long enough for the artist to figure out how the man would have looked before death."

"Meanwhile, I thought I'd see what I could find out about the business those cards are advertising."

"Show me please."

Walter was more than pleased to show and tell. Even though he was a mature man with an IQ high enough to make any mother proud and a master's degree in biological chemistry, he had a joie de vivre that was almost childlike. His sweet babyish face would light up when he was talking about something that interested him. Sometimes, like now, when he walked, he'd swing his large body in a playful manner. Fortunately, few people ever challenged the football player sized black man on his mannerisms.

"Actually, these cards are high quality. The graphics are eye catching and the printing is professional. The company, though, as far as I can tell, is completely bogus. There's nothing anywhere in Miami-Dade or Broward."

"Did you try the phone number?"

"Yeah and got a hang-up. I tried later and got a busy signal. The last time I called, the number had been disconnected."

"Do you think the business is a scam?"

"Construction and remodeling? Oh yeah, big time."

"So do I."

"I once heard that people called gypsies are into doing this kind of thing. They come into an area and pull all kinds of scams. The adult women pretend they can read the futures in cards, kids go from door to door pretending to sell magazine subscriptions and the men either say they are in construction or roofers, all kinds of things."

"Walter, I have heard the same stories but let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I don't like painting any group with the same broad brush."

"Tell you what. Let me have this case. Just trying to find those two RV's around isn't going to find who hit you. If I'm right, if we find areas of scam complaints fast enough, before they can scoot out, we've got a better chance finding them."

"Walter, that's not our job. As much as I'd like to find whoever hit me and take him out into the swamps and have a serious talk with him, I wouldn't be doing my job. We take physical evidence from a crime scene and prove a connection to whoever committed the crime. Then we hand them over to the justice department for whatever might befall them."

Even though Walter could have cited more than a couple of instances when Horatio hadn't quite followed his own words, he held his peace. He knew he would have to have many more years of experience under his belt before he could discern the difference between what he wanted to do now and what Horatio did on occasion.

"Walter, what I'd like for you to do right now is get a warrant to search the vehicle we've found in Homestead. We're going to want fingerprints and a gun."

"I'm all over it." Walter swung away with the determination of a St. Bernard dog after a survivor.

Watching large black man lumber down the hall, Horatio pulled his phone out. "Mr. Wolfe, Walter will be sending a copy of a warrant to your phone. Besides a gun and fingerprints, I'd like some DNA but since we have no cause for that, perhaps you could look for an opportunity to pick some up."

Hearing the reply, he smiled and said, "No, I don't think you need to go as extreme as I did with Walter Dresden. Besides, he and I were alone and I was fighting for my life. You have backup and you'll be in a crowded RV repair shop. Look for some other way."

"Lieutenant Caine, I understand you're waiting for this?"

Returning the cell in his pocket he turned to see who had addressed him, a move he immediately wished he hadn't made. Ordinarily, his back was as strong as anyone else's but, like anyone's back, every once in a while, a turn, a bend, sent a tremor of pain through his muscles. He knew what was a slight ache could be ignored for now and also knew he'd pay for it later.

"The sketch. Yes, thank you, Officer…" he paused to look at the badge which seemed to be a strange jumble of letters.

The woman helped him out. "It's Pandelneskewski. Just call for Barbara when you need me again."

"Thank you. I'll do that. So, this is what he looked like?"

"No doubt. It's easy when all the pieces are still there. I could have taken a photo and run it through a program but computers lose the perspective sometimes. The ME said there was a rush on the work do I did this. I often work with pencil and paper anyway."

Horatio remembered another woman from several years ago who did the same. (See Horatio's Harem, Chapter 9, Sharon) He still had a couple of rather interesting sketches she had done of him then.

"Do you need anything else, Sir?" Barbara inquired, looking hopefully at the handsome thoughtful face.

Coming back to the present, he answered, "Not now, Barbara. I'll remember to call for you when we need these talents again."

"Yes, sir, I'll be ready. Thank you." The young woman turned smartly and walked down the hall.

Horatio hesitated only a moment before he took the sketch down the hall to where Calleigh sat. "Calleigh, would you run this sketch through the facial recognition database? Maybe we'll get a hit."

Calleigh turned and flipped her radiantly yellow hair over her shoulder. "And after that, I'll run a few copies for the knock and talk." She turned to run the sketch through the scanner. "Do we know what killed him yet?"

"I asked Tom to wait on autopsy until the sketch artist was done. He'll most likely be working on it now."

As soon as the sketch came up on the screen, a few key clicks showed the program mapping out key features on the face and measuring distances. It then started the long process of finding a face that would most closely match those features.

"Anyone getting anywhere on those RVs, Horatio?" Calleigh's elegant twang sang his name.

"Not yet. There's a possibility there's a connection between a construction scam and these people. For sure, whoever left a couple of hundred cards at doors at the neighborhood across from Earhart Park is connected to the breaking and enters."

"Well, it would be logical to connect the RVs to the cards, don't you think?"

"Walter is of the same mind. I'll have to see some proof."

The female second in command at the lab didn't have to turn around to know Horatio was gone. She sometimes wondered if he moved in at out like a ghost with effort or if it was because of those Italian soft soled shoes he preferred.

Out in the hallway, Horatio made note of his distance from anyone and dialed his phone. Turning casually, as if simply surveying what was going on in his lab, he spoke quietly. "Yes, I'd like to make an appointment for this evening."

He gave his name and after a pause said, "I understand. No, no preference."

"Yes, lower back."

"Seven o'clock? I'll be there."

Pocketing his phone, he began examining right forefinger, cradling it at arm's length in his left hand. He wasn't actually looking at the finger so much as reviewing what had been going on in the lab and his life in the last few days.

The twitter in his pocket took him out of his reverie.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Horatio? Will I be seeing you tonight?" Her voice over the phone was quiet but not melancholic.

"Considering our conversation last night, do you think it's a good idea?" Horatio wondered at the words coming out of his mouth, wondered how he could be saying them to the woman he cared for so deeply.

After a moment's pause, Yelina spoke with even more subdued tones. "I thought this might be the case so I gathered up your belongings and left them at the lab's front desk before I left." Another pause indicated this was a hard conversation for her to get through.

"Thank you. You know, Yelina, this isn't necessarily permanent. I think we were both caught by surprise in a relatively new situation. As I said, I'm just not sure of what I want between us."

The pause was almost imperceptible. "You mean the honeymoon is over."

He swallowed hard. "Reality is a bitch, isn't it?"

"Especially for police officers."

"Who are also in-laws." He decided to change the subject. "Is Ray coming home for a visit anytime soon?"

"Not for two weeks. Don't worry Horatio, I'll be alright."

"I know. Yelina, we haven't broken up, we've just hit a glitch."

"Horatio, we'll never break up. We'll always be family."

Images of his dead brother floated in the far distant corners of Horatio's memories. Yes, Yelina would always be his sister-in-law and her son, Ray, would always be his nephew. And then, as it usually was with families, things were complicated. In this case, he had been in love with Yelina before she met Ray, his brother. Then she'd married Ray. Then, six years ago, Ray had been killed. Recently, he and Yelina had developed personal feelings for each other again.

"Horatio? Are you still there?"

"I am. I think I'm just jumping the gun; thinking on how to solve the dilemma between us."

"Let's give it a few days. We aren't in any hurry, are we?"

"No." He wasn't, but that didn't stop him from trying to solve the problem anyway. He was a detective; solution was what he did.

"Then, I'll talk to you in a few days. Meanwhile, I'll be working with Eric on that man whose head got blown off."

Shifting immediately to business mode, Horatio's voice rose from personal whisper to the louder leader lever. "See what you can find on Dowd's personal past. Eric is going to Barton's Hair where the toupee was made."

"I'll ask him to call me when he has some information. Maybe it will get us some place."

"Yelina?"

"Yes?"

"Keep me posted." He knew she was smiling as she closed her phone. He then punched another number. "Frank? We have copies of the artist's sketch. Instead of waiting for the facial recognition database to come up with something, let's go see what we can find. Take some uni's out to the artists' colony along the Riverwalk from Brickell west and then to the spas, gyms and body discipline shops."

"What about south Brickell where all the gay and lesbians are? That's close enough, don't you think?"

"If we haven't found anything today, we'll try there tomorrow."

"Good enough. Okay, here's Cal with the copies now. I'll get right on it."

Downstairs, Calleigh handed Frank the sheaf of copies. She watched him twitch, almost jumping out of his chair. Finally, he did rise but only to take the papers. After all, she had not ever said he wasn't to act like a gentleman.

"This the guy?"

"Yeah. Did Horatio tell you what he wanted you to do?"

"Just got off the phone with him. I might be late tonight."

"Okay, I'll get some spaghetti to take home. I'll try to leave some for you."

Knowing just how far she could go with a man who was working on new training, Calleigh turned and fled to the elevator. It was all she could do herself to not turn and blow him a kiss. They'd been together for over two years and yet still acted like fresh lovers. Now that she had his two buns in her oven, she could only hope the feeling would go on forever.

xxxx

"Hi, I'm officer Delko, a CSI from MDPD. I'd like some information about a toupee you made for a Morgan Dowd."

"Let me see."

While the dark man with an angular face ran a finger down the page of an inventory book, Eric tried to assess whether the man was wearing one of his own products. He decided that if he was, it was an excellent job.

Finally the man waved a well groomed hand over a page. "Ah, yes, here it is. But, it was picked up two days ago. I hope there wasn't a problem. If so, Mr. Dowd should bring it in and let us repair it before calling in the police.

Eric smiled at the man's alarm. "Well, yes… what is your name please?"

"Dickensian Barton." As he said the name, he made a face that described the pain of bearing such a strange first name.

Rather than tell Mr. Barton he'd heard far more unusual names, he simply went on. "Mr. Barton, there was a problem with the toupee and Mr. Dowd only sent me here indirectly. You see, Mr. Dowd is dead. There was an explosive in the wi—hairpiece; it blew up early this morning while he was wearing it. He's in our morgue now."

"What?" The man who was model runway thin nearly collapsed. Steadying himself on the Georgian desk that acted as counter and focal point for the room, he asked, "How could this have happened? You don't think we're responsible, do you?"

"That's what I'm here to find out. To start with, may I take a look at the area where it was made?"

"Wel-l-l, I…"

"I could get a search warrant but then we'd have to have a whole team of people looking around and it might take a few days. I just want to see where this toupee was made and meet the man who made it. This is more for exclusionary purposes. It's possible the explosive wasn't added until later."

"Ah, well, if you promise to only look at where the toupee was made. Some of our clients would take it badly if word about wearing a toupee got out."

"I can't promise not to look. I assure you, though, we only make crimes public, not gossip."

Not looking assured the man took a second look at the badge and then the gun. Drawing himself as straight as his posture would permit, all six foot four of it, Dickensian Barton turned and walked to the rear of the shop.

Behind the door, there was a short hallway with two doors on either side. All stood open revealing two offices and two what could have been private fitting rooms. At the end of the hall was another door. Behind that was the shop where the toupees were created.

Although the shop itself was about thirty feet wide and fifty feet long, the work area was much smaller. The six tables, four feet by three feet were crowded together with barely enough room to walk around. The rest of the area was shelving, standing about five and a half feet high, and fifteen feet long. Each side held three of these rows with four foot wide breaks between each section. Each section held rows and rows of bins, all carefully labeled.

"Hermes? Where are you?" Barton called out. Then he turned to the two workers at their tables and inquired in a pouty voice. "Isn't Hermes here? I thought he was on today."

A rough voice called out. "Hold your horses, Dick! I was just taking a bathroom break."

The exact opposite of Barton came out of a side door. The man was pale, stout and bald. He was also short; so much so he almost looked like a tall dwarf. "And no, I don't have the repair to the Wiley rug done yet."

"Hermes, this is Officer Delko from the police. He wants to look at your table."

Looking defiantly up at the man who was almost a foot taller, Hermes asked, "Why?"

Turning to Barton, Eric said, "It might be a good idea to let the rest of the workers go to early lunch or maybe even take the rest of the day off."

"Oh, my god! That will throw our schedule into the toilet!"

"Do you really want them taking the news home with them?"

That stopped Barton in his tracks. He turned and clapped his hands together rapidly several times. "Gentlemen! I hate to tell you this," he rolled his eyes at Delko, "I have to close shop for the rest of the day. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

The two men, both black, stepped over to a stack of lockers. It took no time at all for them to dial the combinations, pull a few belongings out and head towards the back.

Eric called out. "I'd like you to leave out the front please."

Watching them exit, Eric turned to the shorter man, "Now, can you show me where you made Mr. Dowd's hairpiece?"

"Yeah, sure. I made it where I do all my work." He walked to the second to last table on the left.

Eric turned to Barton. "What is the order process?"

"Mr. Dowd called and said he wanted another toupee."

"So, he's ordered from you before?"

"Oh, indeed."

"Suppose a new customer comes in? What happens?"

"First we ascertain what kind of piece he wants. Some mistake us for one of those hair weave places or even for a transplant place." Barton made a face and shook himself.

"Then we go over what he expects to look like with the toupee on. After that, it's a matter of taking measurements, determining his preferences as to the type of weave used as a base, whether he wants to match his own hair color or do a blend, all of that."

"How often had Dowd come in before this?"

"Since long before I took over. My grandfather started the business and then my father was here. There was an awful fire that destroyed nearly everything, including the records. My father was killed in that fire. I think, though, that we made Dowd's clown wigs."

"Excuse me, his what?"

"Didn't you know? He was the first black TV clown. Just on a local channel here in Miami thirty years ago. He was Flower Pott."

"No, I didn't know."

"I had to take over the business after the fire. That was four years ago. I remember that Dowd was long retired by then and yet he came in first to offer his condolences and then to order a new toupee for himself.

"Dear man, his business, among others was what helped to revive this place. Making toupees for people of color is entirely different from doing for the European crowd."

"How so?"

"It's mostly in the stock we have to keep. With Europeans, you have a stock of hair that you color to your liking. With Blacks or Hispanics, the type of hair varies widely from frizz to loose curls, from blue-black to deep, deep brown. Then, when they want to keep the gray, oy, what a problem."

Hermes spoke up here. "Not to mention that there's a trick to getting the hair into the base so that it looks natural."

"How long did Dowd's last hairpiece take you?"

"For the style he wanted, not long. The Don King style isn't all that fussy though why anyone would want it is beyond me. I mean, that look is the height of screaming bad taste, if you ask me."

"Yeah, but how long?"

Climbing up onto the work stool at his table, Hermes reached over to open a drawer. He pulled out a small booklet and referred to the last page. "I got the order from up front last week." He looked to Barton for confirmation.

"I sent it back the same day Mr. Dowd called me. He was very specific as to which year of Don King's style he wanted. I sent the order with pictures I'd printed from the internet."

"I started it about ten in the morning. First I got out the type of base Dowd favors and cut out the pattern. Then I hand stitched it together. That took a full day. On the next day, I pulled out the hair."

"Pulled it out?"

"Yeah, from the bins. Don King's hair is what I call the straight kinky type. It doesn't curl up on itself but it does have a wave the entire length of it. Anyway, it's flat black and the year of the look Dowd wanted there was a dash of gray at the temples and on the crown. We didn't have enough of the gray so I had to color treat a small amount. That took an extra hour of work."

Hermes then waved his hands over the table top. "Once I had my hair, I started inserting it strand by strand into the weave."

"One hair at a time?"

"We've got a tool that's a big help but, yeah, one hair at a time." Hermes pulled out a hand tool. "Still, that's nearly a day of work. Then I spent an hour on styling."

"And when did you finish?"

"Evening before last, late. I left the piece on the headstand and went home."

Even on the long legged stool he still had to look up to ask, "Now, what is this all about?"

Before Eric could speak, Barton said, "Somehow, some explosive got onto the hairpiece. He was killed last night."

"Early this morning to be more exact."

Hermes blinked his gray eyes at Eric for several seconds. Then he dropped his gaze to the table and drew his hand to his close cropped bearded chin and rubbed. He looked around for a few seconds and then finally exploded, "And you think I had something to do with it?"

The little man jumped from his stool and shouted. "Okay, I haven't had the best luck with the law. I was a rotten kid and spent time in juvey but I never did explosives! I've been straight for fifteen years!"

Interested in the reaction, Eric waited for it to run its course before interjecting, "Hold your horses. I haven't accused you. I'm just trying to set up a time line."

"Not trying to accuse me? Fine! Then I've answered your questions and I'm free to go." He turned to his boss. "Dick, I'll be in tomorrow."

Watching the short man walk off, Barton turned to Eric. "I hope you understand. He's a bit high strung."

Having heard the words, Hermes wheeled around. "High strung my ass! I'm not an artiste, just an honest wig maker and I've been accused of turning a guy into a firecracker. High strung, no! I'm being strung up and I'm mad!"

Eric waited to hear the slam of the front door. "So, it sounds like the toupee sat on this table overnight."

"I guess so. Hermes brought it to me yesterday morning, and I called Mr. Dowd. He came in a couple of hours later. We made sure it fit, which it did, perfectly. Hermes knows his work. Then Mr. Dowd paid for it and took it with him."

"Would anyone have come in early in the morning?"

"You mean to do something with the hairpiece? I don't see how. Once someone leaves out the back door, it locks automatically. Unless someone is in the work room to open it again, they have to come around to the front. I'm first to open up in the morning and last to leave at night.

"I see. Now, since I don't have a warrant, I have to ask permission so I don't violate your rights. I'd like to dust for fingerprints and examine that window on the far wall for any evidence of forced entry."

Barton waved to the wall and bowed slightly. "Please, be my guest."

An hour later, Eric was in the lab talking with Yelina. "I got quite a bit of information at Barton's."

"And I got a full dish on Dowd."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"And so someone apparently came in through the shop window, did the work right there and then walked out the door. I found traces of black powder on the table. I'm running the fingerprints I found on the window now. " Eric gestured to a computer than was running the AFIS program.

Yelina leaned against a counter and watched the flickering screen running through hundreds of fingerprints a second. She wasn't seeing it though. "I may have found a motive for the murder. Dowd was not only a television clown; he performed at private parties as well. Part of his performances were to pull the mothers into the act and apparently, he got fresh with them, a little too much for their comfort."

"Only problem there is, women usually don't use explosives as a weapon; especially not women rich enough to hire clowns for their kids' private parties."

Yelina turned to look at Eric. "Although he was never convicted, there were several charges of sexual harassment filed against him. It could well be that some mothers didn't file at all. That could stick in a child's memory."

"Or could have made a husband really angry."

Yelina considered the idea. "Grown men don't wait to act on anger. Dowd hasn't been a clown for several years."

"Sounds like we have more investigation to do on Flower Pott."

"Let's try the station he was on. It was the old Channel 6 before it part of the national broadcast network. We'll have to see if anyone from the old days still works there."

"So, Mr. Wolfe, were you able to collect the extra evidence I asked for?"

Ryan held up three plastic bags sealed with red tape. Inside each was a soda can. "Yes, I did. There was no gun though."

"How did you get the cans?"

"No problem. The whole family, all six, went through about three six packs of 'sodie pop' while waiting for me to go over the inside of the RV. They are definitely not recyclers. When I was done, as soon as McCauber senior threw his last can away, I strolled up behind him, fished it out of the trash and pocketed it. I did the same for a couple of the kids' cans, just in case. They were so interested in being sure I hadn't taken anything from the RV, they never noticed."

"Fingerprints?"

"Well, plenty of those, of course. Who knows, some might be usable. The RV was unusually clean for so many people in such a small space. I got the impression the mom and the older girls spend their days cleaning and cooking."

"Did you give Mr. McCauber a citation for his parking violation over by the park?"

"After a little arm twisting, I even got his signature of receipt. I'm pretty sure he'll ignore it."

Horatio flashed a grin and looked down at his hands. "That's fine. It will come back and bite him when we want it to."

Horatio centered his six foot height and leveled his gaze at Ryan. "I suppose you asked him where the others were?"

Ryan shrugged. "Yeah and got zip for an answer. He said they all split up from the park, didn't know them anyway, hadn't seen any of them since, blah, blah, blah. I checked with the local police chief to be sure he has the scoop on what to look for; RVs with young families, people out spreading business cards in neighborhoods where break and enters also occur, all that."

"Did you ask him to call me directly if he should get a lead?"

"Yeah. He said it should be no problem to spot a group like that.

"Okay, I'll take the cans to Valera and see if Natalia can run the fingerprints. I'll check to see if BOLO has given us another hit yet."

Ten minutes later, Horatio entered almost reverently into the morgue. The ride to the basement level in the back of the building was always a silent transition from the bustle of solution to the quiet observation of cause of death. Down here the head of the CSI department had no power; bowing instead to Dr. Loman's knowledge.

"Ah, Lieutenant, I was wondering when someone from up there was going to appear." When on his home turf, in spite of the awful tasks he had to deal with, the sandy blond haired Dr. Tom Loman was, an extraordinarily cheerful man.

"I know you're busy, Tom. I wanted to give you plenty of time."

"Actually, as far as the two that are of your concern at the moment, there isn't much to tell."

He went to a table covered with a cloth and pulled it back only as far as the neck of the victim. This revealed a grisly scene of a pudgy, dark faced man with a large piece of the top his skull missing. The once pink brain matter underneath was partially bluish yellow and partially blackened.

"Mr. Dowd here was relatively healthy for a man of seventy. If not for the explosive, I think he would have lived for ten, maybe twenty years longer. As it was, the crown of the skull was blown to pieces as was the top half inch of the frontal lobe and part of the top of the parietal lobe. Unfortunately death was not instantaneous. The parts of the brain regulating body function are deeper down. The brain stem was also intact. However, what with the shock of explosion, I don't think he was conscious."

"Did you find anything besides the natural material?"

"No, I think it must have all been blown away. Whatever Delko didn't find in the periphery is lost or wasn't there to begin with."

Horatio's brows knit at the dead man's face. "I think we have all of bomb parts. I was just making sure."

Dr. Loman quietly pulled the sheet back over the body.

Turning he went on, "And what about the other victim?"

Tom moved to the other sheet draped table. In this case, he drew the covering down to below the opening of the stomach cavity.

"Killed by a stiff dose of atropa belladonna." The M.E. was completely at ease with the ghastly sight of organs opened for view.

Horatio had seen too much in his career to be other than saddened at the sight. "Atropa belladonna? I have heard of belladonna but not atropa belladonna."

Loman smiled exposing short even teeth. His light blue eyes danced merrily at the chance to explain something. "Yes, that's the full name. It's more often called belladonna and is even more commonly known as deadly nightshade. Someone gave him a salad made with common varieties of lettuce and then added in nightshade leaves, several berries and even shavings from the root, the most deadly part of the plant. To cover any bitterness, a raspberry vinaigrette was added."

Horatio bent his head, turned it to one side and then looked up at the slightly taller doctor. "That doesn't sound like a mistake. How long does it take for the poison to do its work?"

"Within half an hour of ingestion. Even with so much poison in his system, he could have been saved, Horatio. He would have started sweating, his pupils would have dilated and he would have had hallucinations. Anyone looking at him would have known something was terribly wrong. By the time it was too late, his breathing was slow one minute and fast the next and his heart was doing the same. It's my guess that whoever gave him the salad stood by and watched him die."

"How could he have been saved?"

"Calling 911, getting him to a doctor for an antidote; either physostigmine or pilocarpine." Tom turned to look at the distorted face. "No wonder he looks like that. He died struggling against his own body and not knowing why."

"Why didn't Walter find any evidence of the poison in the blood?"

"It's one of those many things that require special tests. If you don't know what you're looking for, you won't find it. Nowadays, we commonly test for drugs like meth, heroin, marijuana, and the like. We don't think of old school poisons. It's one of the many reasons I go for stomach contents; makes the job of blood work easier in the long run."

"And he suffered no other injuries?"

"None. He was about thirty-five to forty years old. Low muscle mass shows he led a sedentary life. Skin pallor shows he didn't go out in the sun much. I mean there isn't even a line at his neck."

"So, it's likely he died close to home."

Tom looked up and blinked his blue eyes. "Now that I couldn't tell you. I can testify how he died and that is all."

"Understood."

On the ride back to the lab, Horatio surreptitiously put his right hand to his back just above his waistband and rubbed. Just before the doors opened, both hands were at his side.

xxxx

"Mr. Trevino, I understand you have worked at the station for quite some time."

"Forty years and some. Janitor, usher, cameraman, prop manager, show manager, just about every job you can have on a television station. If it wasn't for the merger with the network, I'd be station manager."

Before he could relate his complete tale of woe, Yelina interrupted the elder gentleman. She took a step toward him and smiled sweetly asking, "Did you ever work on the Flower Pott show?"

The man swallowed hard. Being of slightly less than average height, he was eye level with Yelina's cleavage. Finally, he reluctantly raised his bushy brows. The movement seemed to pull his deep brown eyes up to her face. "The Flower Pott show, yeah. I was a kid wrangler first, then his prop man. Finally I got to cameraman and then, assistant show manager."

Eric caught the one unusual title. "Kid wrangler?"

The five and a half foot tall man smiled at the memory. "Yeah, on any other show the title would be usher but when dealing with kids, you don't usher them you wrangle them, you know, control them. If the parents hadn't been around we'd have roped and hogtied the little rug rats. As it was, all you could do was herd them."

Now that they had Mike Trevino on the right track, Yelina had stepped back a pace. "We had heard that Flower Pott got fresh with the mothers. Did you know anything about that?"

"On that show, anything was possible. Dowd's character didn't know the meaning of control. He'd start out doing silly clown stuff and then within ten minutes he'd have everyone off the audience benches, kids and mothers too. They'd all run around like chickens with their heads cut off."

Trevino paused, looking down at the checkered floor, his arms spread out slightly. "And yet, you know, he always seemed to have it under control. The kids never climbed up on the cameras or the sets."

Eric persisted. "What about the mothers?"

"Well, at first, I'd hear an adult squeal every once in a while. I think I saw him hugging a mom or two. This was in the first six or so years of the show. I was low man on the totem pole and was too busy doing what I had to do to pay much attention."

"Do you think anyone ever complained?"

"Couldn't say about back then. Again, I was low down man, doing scut work, ya' know? I had to make sure kids didn't get hurt, make sure props were ready for next show, make sure of this and that."

"What about later?"

"I guess, now that he's dead, it wouldn't hurt to gossip about the guy some. By the time I got to be assistant manager of the Flower Pott show, there were several meetings about the growing number of complaints from the mothers. By that time, 'No means no' was an accepted point of view."

"Do you know how common his assaults were?"

"I'd guess at least once each show. Even if there were no complaints, I could hear a screech coming out of the center of a crowd almost every week. I don't think the station would have done anything about it if the ratings hadn't fallen so low. By the eighties, clown shows were the least popular in kid genres."

"Why didn't the station turn the complaints over to the police?"

The bushy eyebrows raised into the wrinkling forehead, the eyes became round. "Are you nuts? Something like that would throw our ratings into the black pits of hell. The network would never have picked us up. We paid off some of the women, assuring them he'd meant no harm. Some we just patted on their heads and sent them off."

"Why wasn't any of this seen on the screens at home?" Eric was getting angry.

Trevino's thick lips spread wide. "Quick camera use and a thirty second delay on broadcast. When there was a screech, we'd turn the sound down and then turn it back up."

"Was he let go or did he retire of his own volition." Yelina was better at covering her reactions.

"According to the spin doctors, he retired. You can guess the truth. Not only was his show old and tired, he was becoming a liability to advancement of television. That is to say, if he'd been found out, we'd have died as a local TV station."

Yelina and Eric looked at each other and thanked Mr. Trevino for his time.

In the car on the way back to the lab, Yelina mused, "If not for television, I think Dowd would have been found out."

"Was he ever in a circus?"

"Yes, he was. I found an ad in a small newspaper about his being signed up on the television station. There was a quote from him saying that he looked forward to settling down and to working more closely with his audience."

"Interesting that he said audience, not children."

"More interesting was the article in the Miami Times when he supposedly retired from television. He talked about looking forward to working more private parties in intimate surroundings."

"Do you think he kept any records of the parties he worked?"

"Getting a general search warrant on his place shouldn't be any problem." Yelina pulled out her phone.

Half an hour later, waiting for the house key from Dowd's personal possessions to be brought by a uniformed officer, the two CSIs observed the small bungalow and the surrounding neighborhood.

"Cinderblock construction. That tile roofing must have been replaced several times though."

Yelina's eye for design prompter her to say, "That door looks original to when it was built over sixty years ago. I doubt the windows are."

"I'll bet the place would be a shallow swimming pool after a hurricane blew the roof off and opened the windows."

"Makes me wonder why we live in…hey, a neighbor; I'm going to go talk." Yelina got out of the car.

Walking up to the neighbor who had come out to rake his yard, Yelina showed her badge and introduced herself. "Did you know your neighbor, Morgan Dowd?"

"Only to say hello. He keeps pretty much to himself. I'd say nobody around here really knows him which, considering the number of kids around here and his profession, I'd think is kinda odd."

"So, he never does any parties in this area?"

"I doubt that anybody in this area could afford the kind of parties that had a professional TV clown. We're just plain people here. Even so, he never seems friendly to the kids. They wave and he just nods and leaves or goes back in his house."

"I see. Thank you."

"Uh, why you asking the questions?"

Yelina answered that Dowd was dead and they were investigating. Knowing the man would want more information, she was glad to see the black and white car pull up.

Even pulling up the shades on all of the windows in the old house didn't let in that much light. Most of the small windows were either on the north side of the house and all had thick bushes outside. Somehow, light from the few lamps didn't take much from the gloom.

Eric made a face. "I've never seen the charm in old houses. They're dark, they're dusty and they all have a musty smell."

Yelina smiled indulgently. "That's the charm. Or it is if you listen to the Real Estate people. From the looks of the place, it was more charming when Dowd bought it twenty years ago."

Eric stepped to the door of the kitchen, "Well, at least these old places weren't large; living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, all the size of postage stamps."

A rustling sound brought both pairs of eyes to the sight of a two and a half inch long bug racing from under the ancient refrigerator to the somewhat less than clean stove four feet away.

Eric smiled at the startled Yelina. "Even for a palmetto bug, that's big. I wonder if Dowd saddled it and rode it around the neighborhood."

She shuddered. "Let's get this over with. You take the bedroom."

Eric made a face. "Yeah, I guess I should check for body fluids. Even if the neighbor saw nothing, that doesn't mean nothing happened."

Forty minutes later, Eric heard Yelina call out, "Bingo!"

He stepped through the bedroom door to see her standing in front of the old roll top desk raising her arm.

"I almost missed these. They were on the floor under the bottom drawer along with several other old items. I don't think he was hiding them so much as putting them in an out of the way place."

"What are they?"

"The books are records of the parties he worked. The rest are some old letters, what looks like old car license verifications, odds and ends."

"What else was in the desk?"

"Current bills, bank records, stamps, envelopes, that sort of thing. I wouldn't have found the books if I hadn't accidentally pulled the drawer out trying to see in the back."

"Well, I found biologicals on the bed. I'll bring the sheets in to see if he brought anyone home with him recently."

They both agreed to leave the bugs in the kitchen untouched for the moment and return to the lab.

xxxx

"Natalia, do you have anything on those fingerprints?" The quiet whispering voice filled the area.

"Nothing yet beyond Seth McCauber's Alabama driver's license. Most of the prints Ryan got were smudged. Some have good ridge detail, though, and I'm running them through AFIS now."

Horatio remained still, looking at Natalia. His hand stole up under his dark jacket to his back just above the waistline of his pants.

Taking note of this atypical pose, Natalia asked, "Is there anything else?"

Horatio dropped his hand, smiled gently and shook his head.

"Uh, unless I miss my guess, you've got a backache, don't you?"

"Old injury. I'm having it taken care of this evening."

"I've got a cousin that's a body worker. She's really good."

"A cousin?"

"H, you know I have plenty of relatives. I mean, unless you have a regular person you go to, Solange could use the business. What with the recession and all, a lot of her regular clients have had to give up getting regular massages."

"May I ask how long she's practiced?"

Natalia smiled proudly. "Seven or eight years now."

"Where does she work?" Horatio's voice had dropped to an interested whisper.

"She does home calls. She says it's better that way. You want me to give her a call?"

After a moment's hesitation, Horatio gave his permission.

Three minutes later, Natalia handed her phone to her boss with a lively smile on her face.

Five minutes later, Horatio stepped back to Natalia's table and handed her phone back to her.

Five minutes after that, he hung up from canceling his previous appointment.

xxxx

"H, we're going to have to call in the guy who made Dowd's wig."

Horatio had to mentally separate himself from the increasing pain both in his head and his back. "Why is that, Eric?

"I found his fingerprints on the window that was broken into."

Horatio nodded. "He left at the end of the shift and then took a shortcut back in to finish the job."

"He may only have opened the window for air circulation. I'll call him in first thing tomorrow morning and see what else I can find out from him. Meanwhile, Yelina came up with Dowd's notebooks on the kids' parties he worked. We're going to pull out the names and compare them with any complaints filed against him. Once we have that, I'm going home."

"Then I'll see you in the morning."

No sooner had Horatio finished speaking, his cell begged for attention. Pulling it out he answered, "Yes, Frank?"

"Horatio, we covered the entire area northwest from the garden. The uni's got nothin' from the body workin' folks and I got nothin' from the artsy crowd. We're heading back in to write up reports."

"Let's hope someone in the southeast beach area might identify him. I'll meet you at the garden tomorrow morning. Someone might yet recognize the sketch and make our job easier. We'll head out from there."

"I'll be there."

Horatio didn't have a chance to draw his hand from his pocket where he slipped his phone when another voice called to him.

"H, I'm going to have to duck out a few minutes early."

"Why, Mr. Wolfe?"

Not doubting Ryan had a good reason, he needed to answer to higher authorities on occasion.

"You remember my uncle, the one that nearly got caught in that tidal wave? He moved after that and is now in a senior center out by the Everglades. I just heard there's a fire a few miles from the center so I need to go out and see that he's okay."

"Has there been anything in the BOLO reports on the other RV?"

"No."

"I'll be out in the field tomorrow morning."

"I'll report to Calleigh, first thing, then."

Both knew the last two sentences were a necessary formality to be sure they were both on the same page.

Over the next half hour or so, Horatio watched as lights were dimmed in various parts of the lab signaling another worker's departure. Finally, an hour later, he surprised Calleigh by walking to the elevator with her and riding down.

"This is unusual; you leaving when I do, I mean."

"I have an appointment this evening."

"Yelina?"

"Um, no."

Calleigh had already taken note of the paper shopping bag her friend and boss was carrying. She now heard the hesitant tone signaling the lack of words or perhaps the unwillingness to express a thought.

The next few seconds of silence were not uncomfortable for either. They didn't need to fill gaps to communicate.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Calleigh was dozing comfortably on her old couch that was still placed in the middle of the large living room. A paper plate a quarter filled with spaghetti was sitting within arm's reach on the coffee table. Next to it was a large glass bowl half filled with the pasta generously laced with marinara sauce with a couple of sausages poking suggestively from the strands. A wine glass showed dregs of a light red.

Having come in a moment before and kneeling quietly beside her, Frank first admired his lovely wife's slightly puffy face and then her growing belly. Using one hand to draw a wisp of hair from her face, he used the other to cradle the orb that was his growing children in her. Finally, he kissed her cheek.

Calleigh pushed herself upright. "Hey, love. I didn't mean to drift off. I guess I shouldn't have had the wine."

Sitting beside her, he pulled her to the crook of his shoulder. "You need your rest, little Momma-to-be."

She yawned and stretched. "At least it's not as bad as it was. I'm fine now."

Frank indicated the bowl. "Lord, is that how much you ate?"

"Amazing isn't it? That's as much I used to eat in two meals."

"Did you leave any sausages for me?" He picked up the glass container and gazed hopefully at the contents.

"Oh, Frank, of course I did. Heat it up first. Cold spaghetti is almost as bad as cold pizza. Ugh!" Her unsteady feelings about food had not dissipated.

Then Calleigh took notice of an object leaning against the wall near the entrance to the kitchen. "What's that?"

"Well, I was out on the Riverwalk trying to see if anyone knew our garden guy. Some of these artsy-fartsy folk act like a little information is worth a return. They sort of hang together and I got the impression that if I bought something from one of them, they'd all cooperate better. Of all the stuff I saw, this seemed okay, so I got it. If you don't like it, I'll charge it to the department."

"Oh, Frank, I do like it. It's lovely. I didn't realize you had such great taste."

A large white water lily with pink highlights, surrounded by flat green leaves, floated amid clouds with blue tints.

The large man puffed himself up a bit at the praise from his diminutive wife. "Well, I knew you liked water lilies and clouds and this has both."

"And in such soft pastels." She turned in his arms. "Come here you."

When he turned to his wife, she grabbed his head on either side and pulled it down to kiss him on the lips.

In public, the kiss would have been described as embarrassingly long. After a few minutes, if in the public eye, the two would have been arrested for lewd and lascivious behavior. Calleigh finally straddled Frank. Showing her multitasking talents were still alive and well, she continued kissing him and, at the same time, removed his already loosened tie, and then then undid the buttons on his shirt.

Meanwhile, he went for the more direct approach, simply pulled her loose fitting blouse up and over her head. After that, it was a simple matter of letting his fingers blindly unhook her bra.

After a few moments of each enjoying the others treasures that were exposed, Calleigh rose, and lowered her slacks and then wriggled out of the very unsexy panties her girth had forced her to wear.

Frank didn't bother to rise, merely heisting his rear end up long enough to slide his pants down. He then removed his undershirt.

Being that Calleigh was so far along, they couldn't consummate the deed entirely. In the end, however, both were entirely satisfied.

Frank laid his head happily on the couch back and trying to pry his eyes open said, "If this picture does that for you when you're in this state, I'm going to keep my eyes out for more art."

xxxx

Across town, Horatio entered his condo for the first time in nearly a week. Even before then he only came to get a change of clothing and check that things were as they should be. Now that he and Yelina had decided they would be apart, at least for a while, he wondered at how foolish he could be at times. This place he called home seemed cold and dark now. Still he knew the separation was for the best for them both for now. He had lost control in her presence and still wasn't sure why or how. He would not blame it on the medication or the pain. Nor would he blame her for caring. It was his fault and he would not submit her to what must have been an all too familiar anger again.

Meanwhile, he had to get ready for his appointment with Solange. She had explained that she would be bringing her table and her own supplies. Beyond that she said she would like him to be freshly showered and added nothing more. 'Alright, that's easy enough,' he thought.

Even though he knew relief was coming, he allowed the hot shower water to run on his back longer than usual. The slight ache had become a grunt-when-he-moved pain in the last couple of hours as he'd known it would. He stood with his head down, not realizing he'd let his ordinarily straight posture slump. Yeah, the warmth felt good.

He had no idea what he was expecting when he answered the door. When he went to the spa where he ordinarily got his massages, he had a masseur, Greg. At the spa, he was shown to the massage room, given time to disrobe and get on the table under the sheet. Then Greg would enter and begin the massage. Once, when Greg was off, only a woman was available and she had been an older lady, perhaps in her late fifties or even sixties. In both cases, the service was performed quietly, with calming music in the background. When he had made the appointment that afternoon at the spa, he was told Greg couldn't do it and heard a name he was unfamiliar with. Although both the masseur and the masseuse had been good at this spa, he'd had other massages over the years that were very bad, both at this spa and at other places. He had only reluctantly agreed to a new person because he was in such desperate need. He had readily changed because of Natalia's recommendation. Natalia wasn't one just to say someone was good just because of family ties. Then, when she had said Solange had practiced for more than seven years that was reason enough to change.

Opening the door, he was first aware of one of the brightest smiles he'd ever seen. Behind it stood a five and a half foot tall woman who was perhaps in her middle years. That is to say, not all that much younger than he was.

"Hi! I'm Solange. Are you Mr. Caine?"

"I'm Horatio, yes."

Seeing him taking in the package that was nearly as large as she was, she quipped, "You ordered a pizza, extra large with the works, right?"

Suddenly more at ease with a new person than he'd been in a long time, he huffed out a laugh and stepped aside. "I guess I didn't know what to expect."

The woman entered and quickly took in her surroundings. "Yeah, if this is your first time, it's a little strange. Where would you like me to set up?"

"Where do you usually do it?"

"In homes, there is no usual place. I've done massages in the living room, hallways, bedrooms, bathrooms, even the laundry room."

At ease or not, there were limits. "Here in the front room, I guess."

Suddenly in charge, Solange moved to a space nearest the patio door. "This is big enough. I'll be ready in a minute."

She set a large bag she was also carrying on the chair in the corner and easily unloaded the large square package. This she set on the floor, leaning against the chair. Opening the bag, she pulled out a bath sheet and handed it to her newest customer. "Meanwhile, you go into the bedroom, take off the robe and wrap this around you."

"I have towels."

The rather attractive woman smiled in a way that said she'd heard this before. "Yes, but oil is the devil to wash out. I know how. I provide the whole service. Besides, this is a size I'm used to working with. Now off you go. Take your time and come out when you're ready." She smiled and turned away to unzip the table covering.

Horatio thought he'd have to wait while standing draped in the towel he'd put around his waist. He did not. As soon as he came from the short hallway leading to the bedroom, he saw the large table was up and draped with a large sheet. It was different from other massage setups in that, instead of the horseshoe shaped face rest at the end of the table, there was an oblong hole in the table itself. The sheet also had a hole at that end. The cut was extended so that it draped slightly over the inside edges.

Solange had positioned herself at the side of the chair while she was still pulling material from her bag. Apparently catching his entry out of the corner of her vision, she looked up and smiled. "Okay, now, I'd like you to loosen the towel slightly and get up on the table so you can lay face down. I remember your back hurts so don't worry about trying to be graceful about it. I'll help adjust the towel as you go."

Horatio could not observe that Solange was very surprised that the man did move quite gracefully.

His face down in the hole, he heard her ask if he was comfortable. "I am."

"Now, I know you've had massage before but I still like to say what I'm going to do as we go along. There's nothing worse than surprises when someone else is in charge."

Horatio couldn't have agreed with her more.

"I'm going to start with your back first."

He felt the towel that covered up part of his back being lifted and folded down.

"Okay, here goes."

Cool, moist magic started at the bottom of his spine. "My hands are cold, I know. They always are when I start. It'll get better."

Enchantment rose up on either side of his backbone to the base of his neck, spread out to the edges of his back and pulled down along his ribs to his waist and in, back to the starting point. In spite of the coolness, Horatio had no doubt this was going to be exactly what a massage should be.

The first movement was repeated twice more when he heard the words. "Now I'm going to do what I call a little exploration. You said the pain was in your lower back and I think I can see and feel where and why but just in case there are more problems, I'd like to know before I get to the real work."

Horatio knew he wasn't expected to answer.

Almost ten minutes later he was tempted to comment that, for exploration work, she was accomplishing the job expertly.

"Okay, your neck is a little on the stiff side. From the scab up into the hairline, I'd say you were injured there recently?"

His affirmation led her to say, "Okay, that's part of it. Of course, that scar in your lower back here may have something to do with it. Was it a bullet?"

The memory of that day, from the moment he'd been shot until he'd fallen, wheezing and exhausted, on the floor of the factory still lived in his nightmares. "Yes."

"Then, I see a very old scar on your left side. Has that ever given you trouble?"

Horatio almost said, 'Aside from nearly dying from it, no.' Instead he said, "No," and left it at that.

The short answers gave the masseuse volumes of information. "The most recent injury in your back was coming along nicely and then this second one derailed you. There's a knot in your shoulder the size of Cleveland. You were handling that just fine but then you did something more to your back and poof, it all came down."

As she spoke, Horatio felt wonderful things being done to his muscles.

"You called immediately so it's not too bad. I think I can be of some help."

"It feels better already."

"Good." She didn't sound convinced.

Half an hour later, Horatio didn't think he could feel any better. When he was asked to roll over, there was not the least twinge in his back. He was hardly conscious of her comments for the next half hour or, indeed, conscious of what was being done to him. He only knew he'd never felt so relaxed or so well taken care of.

After a while, from out of the wondrous haze where he was floating, he heard a voice. "And now, comes the really hard part. I'm going to have to have to ask you to sit up."

"Alright." The only problem there was figuring out how to accomplish the request. He was so relaxed, it seemed like his muscles had been disconnected from his brain. Finally, moving more slowly than he had in a very long time, he started to rise and felt strong hands bracing his back and bringing him upright.

"There you go. Now, just sit there for a minute."

He felt hands briskly rubbing his shoulders and upper back.

"Now to wake you up enough so you can walk on your own. When you're ready, you go, put your robe back on and bring the towel back."

Walking toward the bedroom he realized that, at some point, she had lowered the lights in the living room.

Having followed her orders, he found she had folded the table and put it back into its bag, and had put the rest of her supplies into the smaller bag. There was also more light.

'Interesting,' he thought.

Lighting up the room further with her smile, she quietly accepted the towel and stuffed it into the bag that seemed to be bottomless.

"I don't know what you did but my back doesn't hurt a bit now."

Her smile increased a few watts. "Thank you. It should feel good for at least a couple of days."

"I'd make another appointment with you now but my schedule…"

Before he could finish, she put up her hand. "I know. I can't pin Natalia to even a coffee date. Police are as bad as Real Estate agents when it comes to appointments other than your own work. Just do me a favor? Call before pain becomes a crisis. I'm miracle worker but there's a limit."

After paying her, Horatio was nodding dumbly before he realized she was standing at the door waiting to be let out.

"I'd do it myself but with all this gear, it's a little difficult."

Closing the door, Horatio stumbled happily to the bedroom. When morning came, he realized he had slept deeply and profoundly. He also realized he'd left the lights on in the living room.

xxxx

The night before, in the elevator, Solange leaned tiredly against the wall. Her mouth silently formed the word, 'Wow!' A few moments later, in her dated hatchback car, she made a call. "Natalia, I just wanted to thank you for the recommendation to Horatio."

"Were you able to help?"

"From what I could tell, yes." Solange's eyes wandered up the beachfront condo. "He said he couldn't make another appointment but it sounded like he'd call when he could." She wondered if he remembered to turn out the lights in his living room.

"Well, you know we can't plan ahead all that much."

"Yeah, kiddo, I know all too, too well."

"No need to be insulting." Natalia's tone of voice indicated she was far from insulted.

"Yeah, like I have a life. You're at the beck and call of crime and I'm a slave to clients who need me for their aches and pains. Oh well, it's a living."

"I'm glad you liked Horatio. Now let's talk about when you can come rub my back."

"What's your schedule?"

Ordinarily, once business was done, Solange would drive on her way. This time, she sat in the visitor parking lot that was shiny from recent sprinkles staring through her diamond studded windshield. Her experience as a masseuse had led to personal brushes with many people, both men and women. None had struck her the way this one had. Bodies were bodies, whether they were slender, well muscled, or flabby, men or women. People were people. Some were ticklish, some were sensitive, some couldn't be pleased by God himself; most, however, were glad of her help. There was something about this pale bodied redhead. He was not overly muscled yet he was well developed. Even in pain, he moved with a noticeable grace and his face spoke volumes that she couldn't even begin to read but, oh, how she wished she could.

Suddenly she shook herself. 'Cut that out! You do not allow yourself to get emotional over a client. That way lies danger and a whole lot of trouble besides.' She leaned forward and turned the key, starting the engine.

xxxx

"Calleigh, what's up?"

"Did you just turn your phone back on?"

"I'd forgotten I turned it off until I was getting ready this morning. I found your message."

"I figured you had a good reason to turn your phone off. Besides, it's what you have a second-in-command for."

"What's going on?"

"Another toupee explosion."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Where did it happen? I'll check on it before I come in to the lab."

"At a magic shop over on 12th, just off of Flagler. I'll send the address to your cell. Apparently he's been dead since last night. A shop owner next door noticed the door was open and the lights were on like they'd never been turned off."

"Thank you for covering this Calleigh."

"Hey, just doing my job, you know that. We cover for each other."

"That we do."

Feeling refreshed and ready to take on the world, Horatio fired up his MG and made his way to the 'Now You See It…' magic shop. Though he expected Yelina to be on the scene, he was surprised to see Wolfe with her.

"Ryan, where is Eric?" Horatio stood with his side facing the young CSI as if to dodge any answer he might not like hearing. Sometimes, Eric's involvement with women interfered with his work. It hadn't happened for a while which had made it easier on the team. That being said, however, Horatio didn't ever want it to happen again.

"He called in to say that as he left his apartment he thought he saw the RV we're still looking for so I'm covering for him here while he checks it out."

Relieved, Horatio nodded and turned to Yelina. Not sure that his composure was any more steady than hers, looking evenly and calmly into Yelina's eyes, Horatio asked, "Does it look to be the same sort of attack?"

Yes, sure enough, there was that slightly ironic smile showing a cover for her private thoughts. She too was dealing with keeping their personal lives apart from their work.

"Except for the fact that this was more like a stage wig than a toupee, yes, I'd say it was."

"Where is he?"

The three CSIs entered the artificial light of the interior.

Ryan pointed. "He's behind the counter in the back."

Before walking down one of the two narrow aisles that led to the rear of the shop, Horatio took in the scene. If he hadn't known what to look for, the red spray pattern that rose from a point on the back wall just about five feet up from the floor and rising to the ceiling, fanning out in a peacock's tail shape, he would have missed it. The wall had an array of shelves and display goods so that, from a few feet away, the spray looked more like a shadow. Anyone just casually passing by and looking in, especially from outside, wouldn't have noticed anything wrong.

"Mr. Wolfe, have you cleared the path?"

"Yeah, it's the only thing I've had a chance to do."

Horatio slowly walked down an aisle on one side of the store. On the wall side, shelves ran to the ceilings. On the other, the broad shelves were just five feet tall. All were stacked with the toys and accoutrements of the magical trends, all in or beside boxes of the most garish colors. Once he could see the pattern in the arrangement of goods, the redhead dismissed it all. Slowly, he walked down the aisle, taking in anything that looked like it might not belong in the picture. At the end of the aisle, he walked even more carefully around the counter to see the victim. Yes, even up close, the scatter of clotted blood and brain matter looked consistent. The man had been standing at the counter when the wig had exploded. The force drove the man to the floor while scattering parts of the wig, his skull and the contents upwards.

Horatio looked down and carefully observed the mess that used to be the man's head. What had once been a garish red, black and white striped wig was setting far back on the man's cranium. From the blackened hole in the center, bits of dark pieces clung to the melted hairs around it. Completely out of place with the rest of site, the man's face, painted equally garishly in black and white was entirely peaceful.

A glint caught Horatio's eye and he got down on one knee to take a closer look. Lying against the man's throat, tucked inside the open necked white shirt, lay a silver crucifix on a chain.

Without a thought, Horatio raised his head and said quietly, "God, please take this man to your arms as you did your own son." He bowed his head for a moment and then he rose. Turning around, the detective retraced his steps down the aisle. As he did, he passed Dr. Loman coming up the other aisle.

"Tom."

"Horatio," the doctor acknowledged.

Outside, Ryan explained his plan. "Once we're done picking up as much evidence as we can from here, I figure Tom will have the wig off and we'll know the maker."

Yelina chimed in, "And we'll go from there."

"Are you still tracking down the people who hired Dowd to work their parties?" Horatio wanted to know.

"While Ryan checks out the wigmaker, I'll get on that list."

"Good. Keep in touch. I'll be out in the field for the morning. Calleigh will be in the lab." Walking away as he spoke, Horatio pulled his cell from its place in his jacket pocket.

"Frank? Are you at the garden? I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

"Yeah, Calleigh called and told me what was up. Another one with the top of his head gone. I'm glad I'm not working that one."

"Don't count yourself out yet, Francis. One more and we count it as a serial killer."

Frank let out a sigh. "Yeah, and then it's all hands on deck. I know. You got anything yet?"

"Not a thing."

"Alright, we'll try to clear the flower plot guy from the books, just in case."

"You bet."

Twenty minutes later, Horatio was handing police Detective-Lieutenant Frank Tripp a large cup of coffee from one of his favorite corner markets. "I figured you'd be ready for your second cup about now."

Frank blinked very bloodshot green eyes. "More like my third, but thanks. Calleigh is beginning to go into a restless phase of the pregnancy. I wake up every time she gets up at night."

Horatio grinned. "I don't think it's going to get any better for the next year or so."

Frank grimaced, "Don't I know it!"

They agreed to first do knock and talk on the part of Brickell Street that was notorious for flagrant displays by the gays and lesbians in the area. As much for tourists as for themselves, there were stores that sold brilliant clothing, hotels with bright art deco facades, tattoo parlors, bars catering to either one sexual preference or the other but not turning away any, and a few less than savory triple X plus movie theaters and book stores.

An hour later, Frank waved his notebook at the approaching Horatio. "Nada. A few said they thought he looked like somebody but couldn't decide who. Everyone asked what his style of clothing was. What should I have said? That his style was naked?"

"Same here. I said I didn't know and left it at that."

"So, we go to the neighborhoods?"

Horatio picked at his right forefinger. Looking up at the ever changing array of clouds that climbed to the stratosphere, he ran his thoughts over what they knew so far. "We do Frank, but not the random knock and talk we've been doing. If he was gay, this area would have been a regular hangout. Since no one recognizes him, I'm betting this man was either agoraphobic or, at the very least, extremely shy."

"Maybe he just came into town."

"People say he looks familiar, so I don't think so. That could also mean he wore disguises. In either case, agoraphobic or introverted, neither chooses to avoid human contact entirely. The agoraphobic, at the very least, has items delivered to his door. The introvert has a tight area around his house in which he feels free to roam in a small area around his home."

"Okay, but what's your point, Horatio?"

"Instead of going to the homes, let's check out the mini-malls that serve these neighborhoods. We'll see if there's a place that ordered pizza delivered more often than not. Perhaps a clerk will recognize a customer that didn't talk all that much."

Frank bobbed his bald head. "It'll sure save on the shoe leather."

A little over two hours later, as Frank exited the fifth pizza joint he'd been to, he saw Horatio waiting, planted with a wide stance at one end of the mall. A few swift strides took him to the head CSI's side. "You look like you got something."

"I think I do, Frank. The man inside recently transferred from the evening shift to the day shift. He said a man who looked something like this would come in just before he wanted to close down at night. At first, a few months ago, he suspected the man wanted to steal something. He kept coming in, two or three times a week. He'd wander around aimlessly and inevitably bought mostly junk food, paid and left."

"Any idea where he lived?"

"No, but now we have a starting point, don't we?"

"That still makes a whole lot of homes and apartments around here."

"That it does."

"I thought I'd hit it right. The pizza guy that does delivery in the evening was in there to get his paycheck as well as the one who runs the store at night. That's where the luck ran out. Neither recognized our vic. It could be the guy had a friend who took delivery, but that doesn't seem right. "

"So, Frank, it looks like we're going to have a long day."

Frank pulled himself up and hoisted his belt. "Well, maybe not. Besides pizza, what is the next most tracked delivery? I mean, if this guy couldn't or wouldn't go out, I bet he still bought things."

"Are you talking package delivery?" Horatio's smile showed he liked that idea very much.

"Let's call Calleigh and see if she can come up with a list of homes most commonly delivered to in this area?"

"Sounds good, Frank."

"While we're waiting for the results, we can go get a cup of coffee."

Knowing Frank's taste for plain, close to bad, coffee, Horatio figured he would be sadly disappointed in the high end café bistros located in the area. On the other hand, it had been a while since he had had a decent cup of the dark Italian blend he favored so he decided to keep quiet.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, Frank was saying, "We either sit inside on chairs that'll hold and listen to the racket of that espresso machine or we sit outside on spindly things that would collapse after five minutes. And for what? Horatio, why do they call them coffee shops? Don't they know how to make coffee like any other place?"

Horatio knew that it was the price of his brew that was bothering his larger than life friend more than anything. He could have pointed out the finer points of coffee blends and instead, sat and stared at his own cup.

"By the way, Horatio, there's something Calleigh keeps after me to talk to you about."

"What's that, Frank?"

"I think you can guess. I mean, for us, it's a given but Calleigh thought I should make sure you don't have any objections."

Horatio had an idea as to the upcoming conversation yet rather than assume, he let Frank take the lead.

"I'll just say it out, plain. Would you be the twin's godfather?"

"Frank, that's quite an honor."

"Calleigh has pointed out that what with all three of us being in the business, they could just was easily be left without guardians at some point. Still, you're the closest thing to a responsible relative either of us has."

"Frank, I'd be honored to be the twins' godfather, thank you."

"I'm glad to hear it. I'll let Calleigh know this evening."

"Your point of us all being in the same business has validity, you know. You might want to think up a contingency plan."

"You mean like worst scenario? Like a government?"

"Yes, except, instead of who takes the presidency it's who takes guardianship."

Frank leaned back and stuck his chest out a bit. "Makes the little tykes sound really important even before they're born."

"They have been really important to my mind ever since you gave out the news."

Before Frank's blush was complete, Horatio's cell sang out.

"Yes, Calleigh."

He made a gesture with his hand and Frank slid his notepad and pen across the table. Horatio began writing out the six addresses Calleigh had for him.

"Calleigh, thank you for the addresses and Frank told me of the honor you wanted of me, so, thank you again."

Turning to Frank as he ripped the paper from the pad, he said, "Between the three largest package delivery companies in the city, seventeen addresses pop up most often. Of those, six are delivered exclusively in men's names."

"Good thing we ordered the coffee to go. At this price, I'd hate to leave it." He grabbed his half-finished paper cup and walked out the entrance with Horatio following.

xxxx

"So, how did it go, guys?" Calleigh swung around on the stool as her husband and her boss entered the gun lab.

"Complete bust. Only two were home and they and their wives had no idea who our guy was. We tried a little knock and talk around the neighborhood and mostly got blank stares and closed mouths."

"Well, it was worth a try. The facial recognition program is still searching. He definitely isn't in any legal system."

"Tell you what, if the program hasn't found him by tomorrow morning, let's go to the media."

Calleigh's face lit up. "Miami first and then we might as well go eastern half of the US next."

"I agree. Let's not do things by halves if it doesn't work the first time."

Frank looked like he wanted to say something, then changed his mind and said something else. "Hey, has anyone heard anything from Eric? He was checking on that second RV."

Calleigh jumped like she'd been poked with a cattle prod. "Oh, my lord, there's been so much going on with the other two cases, I forgot! He said as he walked toward the RV it took off. Rather than chase it, he called it in and six blocks later it was stopped by a couple of patrol cars."

Horatio had turned sideways to Calleigh as she spoke, showing his concern over the events. "I'm glad he didn't pursue it. That could have caused some injuries."

Calleigh's blond brows knit over the bridge of her nose even as she smiled. "Well, unfortunately, there was still some property damage and some injuries. I guess the driver didn't bother to look to see if he was actually being chased so he ran two stop signs."

"What happened?"

"I'll let Eric fill you in. I imagine he's still in booking and will bring the driver up when that's done."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Although he hadn't broken any speed laws, Horatio was jumping out of the Hummer at the scene of the wreckage in record time. The look on his careworn face as his worried eyes searched the area showed the level of his concern.

"H! Over here!"

He bolted over to the young man, his voice gravelly. "Eric! Are you alright? What happened?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It wasn't my fault, honest. I did it all by the book."

"Slow down. Tell me, step by step, what happened?"

"I was leaving Valera's place to go to that new exploded head scene and I happened to glance down the street. There's an area close to her apartment where some people park their RVs and trailers overnight. With so many people out of jobs and losing their homes, Maxine says the city lets the parking laws slide a little. What with the BOLO out on RVs I ran a check and wouldn't you know it; the one with the license we're looking for happened to be parked with the rear end sticking out into the street."

"So, if one thing hadn't tipped you off…"

"Yeah, the other would have."

"So, first, I called Ryan to cover for me and then I called for a patrol backup."

"When did it become a chase?"

"It didn't! I walked up to the door, put my badge against the window and knocked, announcing myself. Suddenly the thing pulls out like a bat out of hell, nearly taking off the corner of the third wheeler parked in front. It ran the stop sign down there and kept on going."

"What did you do?"

Eric grinned lopsidedly. "I ignored my impulse to jump into the car and follow. Instead I called it in and hoped a patrol car could block it. They did but not until the driver ran another stop sign hitting two cars and then scraping three more parked cars."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Four on their way to the hospital, one serious."

"Who was driving?"

"You're not going to believe this; it was a fifteen year old girl. The parents weren't there and I guess she panicked."

"Do we have the parents yet?"

"She won't tell where they are."

"Well, I'll talk to her. Maybe she'll tell me."

Following Delko's directions, Horatio sized up the teenager as he approached. Her dark, neck length curly hair had that purposefully tousled look. Her eyes and lips had only the slightest tints of color and her cheeks were only a bit more rosy than natural. The cut off blouse and low slung shorts did fine justice to her blossoming figure. Yet, under this ordinary teen facade lurked a prime distrust of the people around her. Her hazel eyes moved among the strangers, her face showing only a little more trust in the older women medics than any of the men.

Keeping his voice gentle and quiet, he greeted, "Hi, my name is Lieutenant Caine. What's your name?" He sat beside her on the rear bumper of the Emergency Service Ambulance vehicle.

"Nikki—." The sudden stop at the end of the name showed she almost told her last name.

Although he suspected her last name was Hennessy, the daughter of the licensed driver of the RV, he decided to let her believe it was a secret, for now.

"The medics say you're alright. I guess you held onto the steering wheel pretty good."

Her silence prompted him to continue on his own. "Why did you drive away from Detective Delko?"

"I didn't know he was a policeman." The girl's words swung with the characteristics of an Alabama accent.

"He showed his badge."

Her eyes moved back and forth as if looking for someone to tell her what to say. "I didn't see no badge. All I heard was a knock and this strange man saying to open the door."

"And you didn't know what to do. I guess at your age, in that situation, I wouldn't have known either. Why aren't your parents with you?"

"They's out visiting with cousins that live in the area. They left me to stay with the house because I'm oldest and can do for myself alone."

"Well, maybe they were mistaken, don't you think?"

The girl turned and looked with frightened eyes at the damaged mobile home. "Pap's going to kill me dead when he sees that mess."

"Do you mind if I ask if you remember the day you were parked at the Amelia Earhart Park?"

"The what?"

Horatio explained how the RV had been parked along the road while the other traveling homes had been parked inside. He added only in an offhand manner how there had been a crime committed in that location. She pretended to vaguely remember.

"Well, on that day, your RV and another one were parked dangerously close to the road and I had to call the violation in to my department. Would you know anything about what happened that day?"

Although her head was lowered, she was looking up through her knitted eyebrows. Speaking through a thrust out jaw, she mumbled, "Why would I know anything?"

"Because you were there."

"Maybe we didn't see anything across the street."

"I never said anything about across the street."

"Then why are you asking me?" A slight panic was creeping into the tone of her voice.

She looked around, searching the crowd. "I want my ma 'n' pa."

Putting his hands down between his knees, he looked over his shoulder at the girl. "So do we, Nikki. Tell us where they are and we'll bring them to the station to be with you."

Since Nikki refused any information, she was taken to the hospital for observation; afterwards she would be taken to the station for questioning. From there, Eric and Horatio fell back onto Plan B; they parked half a block from the place the RV had been during the night. Their immediate hopes had been they would see people standing around the vacancy and so assume these were the parents wondering where their daughter was. That not being the case, they sat and waited.

"Was there anything I could have done differently to prevent her running off like that?"

"I don't think so, Eric. These people have been in hiding for several days now. You followed the procedures by identifying yourself with a badge. You couldn't have known she was alone and would panic. You also did right by not chasing her."

"I guess she just didn't think to look in the rear view to check."

"Teenagers don't have enough thought processes developed to think in those terms."

"No matter how hard we work to prevent accidents caused by high speed chases, they still seem to happen."

"Not as many as there used to be. Once, when I was off duty in New York, I was nearly killed. The guy was being chased by two patrol cars; he must have been going over eighty when he came off the ramp from the throughway. I just happened to be passing by, caught the flash of lights out of the corner of my eye and for some reason hit the gas. He missed my rear end by a whisker but in veering around me, he skidded across the pavement and onto the median."

"And you're a trained driver. Most civilians wouldn't have thought to do what you did."

"Which is why we gave up the thrill of the chase, Eric." The skin around the blue eyes crinkled as he smiled at his own jest.

"Well, look here." Eric nodded at a group of men and women walking to the still vacant parking place. "Since they didn't drive up, I guess we don't have to worry about another chase."

The two men, both with right hands pulled to their hips ready to grip their loosely holstered pistols, got out of Eric's car. Knowing they couldn't look casual if their lives depended on it, not with badges on one hip and guns on the other, they simply walked slowly across the street.

Three of the four men on the sidewalk looked vaguely familiar to Horatio. The two women and eight children did not. He finally decided that the familiarity wasn't that he'd actually met any of the men so what was it?

"Gentlemen, I'm Lieutenant Horatio Caine." His tone was entirely different from when he'd introduced himself to the girl. "You're looking for a missing RV if I'm not mistaken."

A paunchy, middle aged man stepped forward and thrust out his jaw.

Ah, that was it. This one, at least, was Nikki's father. The others could well be relatives to the men he'd seen at the park.

"Yeah, so tell me where it is and I'll be on my way."

"I'm sorry to say that your daughter Nikki and the RV were involved in an accident."

One of the women, carrying a wide-eyed wispy haired waif on her hip stepped forward. "Oh God! Is she hurt?"

"No ma'am, she wasn't. She did however run from an officer who identified himself, she was driving without a license and she did cause injury to property and life."

The man aimed his rather large belly at Horatio and hunched his shoulders forward. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large wad of cash. "Okay, what's it going to take to make this alright?"

Eric took a step back. He suspected what Horatio's reaction was going to be and he wanted to be ready for whatever movements the other men might take to protect their friend.

Horatio bent his head as if to take a look at the cash. In the same movement, he put one foot back and at the same time, in a lightning swift move, he reached out and grasped Mr. Hennessy's wrist. The grip was so tight that it turned the skin around it a dead white.

Using a deadly quiet whisper, Horatio said, "Mr. Hennessy, if it wasn't that your daughter is in desperate need of you right now, I would put you under arrest for trying to bribe a police officer. Now, put that money away." He released the arm.

With a quick jerk, the man retrieved control of his limb and slid his hand back into his pants pocket. At the same time he rolled brow furrowed eyes at his wife.

Her reaction was to look away as if she had not seen any of what had just happened.

Standing straighter now, examining cuticles on the hand once used as a manacle, Horatio continued in an only slightly louder voice. "Not that attending your daughter is the only reason we will need your presence at our police station. You see, we have been looking for you for parking illegally four days ago on 65th street at the Amelia Earhart Park. I also personally have some questions about what you know about the attack on my person on that same day at that location."

"We don't know nothin' 'bout that!" screeched a woman that Horatio guessed was Mrs. Hennessy.

"We'll talk about that later. Right now, your daughter, being under age, needs a parent with her before we can question her."

While he was addressing the parents and keeping an eye on the other three men, he had noticed Eric step into the street and raise his arm. The patrol cars, parked a block down the way were alerted to wait for that signal. They quickly came rolling up.

"And these officers will take you to the station."

Eric escorted the mother and three of the children in the group into the back seat of one of the green and white vehicles and Horatio did the same for Mr. Hennessy and a preteen boy in the other.

They left the other two men and children standing in the street.

"Eric, can you follow me to the hospital where the victims were taken?"

"To check on their condition?"

"I think we better, Eric. We can hope that even the most serious isn't all that bad. It would be a shame if a young girl's misguided terror turns into a lifetime of regret."

xxxx

"We already sent the other three home. One has a broken nose and another bit down on her tongue, but mostly, it's cuts and bruises that will mend with little or no scarring." Dr. Magnus adjusted his horn rim glasses as he spoke. The clipboard in his other hand was thick with papers.

"And the more serious injury?" Horatio's eyebrows rose to meet in a confab of worry over his nose.

"The little girl?" He shrugged. "One of those head injury only cases. MRI shows no bleeding, but some swelling. Her head got rattled and her brain was severely shaken. We put her into an induced coma and have lowered her body temperature. We'll reassess her in two days."

"Any prognosis?"

The blond, blue eyed doctor had all of the physical attributes of a Hollywood actor playing doctor and none of the personality. His bland look that was neither a frown of concern or the haughty disdain of the unknowledgeable. He shrugged his shoulders again. "I'd say fifty-fifty. Head injuries in the very young can either be devastating or nothing."

Horatio hoped at least the man showed some kind of concern to the child's parents.

Outside on the hospital's steps, Eric shrugged his own shoulders in the bright Miami sun, only with far more meaning. "Well that was close to useless!"

"On the contrary, Eric; although we will still need to interview the other three from the hospital, at least we know they'll be alright. As for the little girl, this leaves Nikki with a fifty-fifty chance of coming out of this with reckless endangerment of life and property which is far better than manslaughter."

"She should get something for what she did."

"Let's just see how her interrogation pans out."

"You don't think she's going to say anything, do you? I mean, with her parents there staring her down with every word she speaks."

"Since we have every reason to want to interview Mr. Hennessy because of two traffic violations and fleeing the scene where I was attacked, I think we can interrogate Nikki with just her mother present. Something tells me mother and daughter are closer."

The two men parted, Eric to his personal car and Horatio to the Hummer.

The lieutenant was glad to have the time to himself. Before he keyed the large silver vehicle into purring life, he made a call. When he'd grabbed Mr. Hennessy's wrist, the man had naturally tried to jerk back. As strong as Horatio was, he had had no trouble holding the man still and helpless. The only trouble was, doing that used the muscles that he'd pulled the day before.

He knew Solange had been right in her assessment. Randy North's bullet had entered under his liver and exited through several layers of back muscle near his spine. Everything had healed well yet, like the knife wound of many, many years before, he knew it would give him trouble from time to time.

Age too was a factor. He was strong, he knew that, but maybe there was a limit. Maybe it was time to take better care of himself more often.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Hey Ryan, so, how was the scene at the magic shop?"

Ryan's Jake-Gyllenhaal-like features looked grimly at the rosy faced blond as he answered, "Oh, just like any other guy who's had the top of his head blown off. Brain bits all over magic tricks sure adds a special something to a display. Remind me to thank Eric for the morning treat."

"By the way, I understand you had to go check on your uncle out by the Everglades yesterday. How is he?"

"Crusty. By that I don't mean burnt, but hard to get along with. He called me an old woman for worrying about the fire. It turned out it was further away than I thought and the wind was blowing away from the senior apartments he lives at. He said I should have called first."

Calleigh grinned. "Civilians don't understand that a CSI has to check on the evidence to know what the truth is."

"And I heard Eric didn't do so well with the RV."

Quick to defend, Calleigh answered, "I wouldn't put it like that. It was unfortunate, that's all. I don't think it had anything to do with what he did or how he did it."

"I didn't say I thought he did anything wrong."

"Well, you sure sounded like it."

Calleigh's blue green eyes got wide for a moment. "Oh, Ryan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off on you. These darned baby hormones shove me into overdrive on one side or the other half the time."

"Okay, I get it. I watched my older sisters go through this at home. It was the same thing. Anyway, so where are they on this now?"

"The damaged RV is being brought into the shop for fingerprinting and general search. Since the girl used it as an escape vehicle, we have free reign on it. Then the girl's parents were found so the whole family is being brought in with her."

"Anything you want me to do on any of that?"

"You know what? Call Horatio. He's on his way in."

Nodding and turning out into the hall, Ryan pulled out his cell and punched a number. "H? Yelina and I are back from the magic shop.

"Yeah, the guy was wearing a sort of Halloween clown wig and it was rigged the same way as the other guy's."

Ryan shook his head. "Until Tom gives it up, it's part of his scene. I've tried to take things from the body at the scene before; he gets real testy."

Nodding, staring at nothing in particular, Ryan sighed. "No, I'll have to learn to play nice with the doctor on my own.

"Did you want me to go back to work on the other case and let Eric have this one when he gets in? I could go over the RV if you want."

"Oh? You are? Sure, we'll talk when you get in. I'll see you then."

Ryan put the phone in his pocket.

xxxx

Sitting very still, Horatio's knuckles were almost white as he tried to elevate himself by way of the steering wheel. It didn't help to relieve the pain but the effort took his mind from it to some degree.

The pain he'd felt on the road surprised him. The Hummer's ergonomically designed seats usually made driving a pleasure. This time, however, halfway in, he felt like hot barbed arrows were being shot into his lower back and slowly removed. When he arrived in the garage, he hoped that when the action of driving stopped, the pain would let up. As long as he didn't breathe or move in any way, it did.

"Hey, H, you taking up residence there?"

Smiling tightly, still hanging onto the wheel, Horatio turned to say, "Eric, change of plans. I have an appointment for this afternoon and I want you to report to Calleigh for today."

Eric's face changed from his casual grin to a hard look of concern. "H, what's wrong! You don't look too well."

He couldn't bring himself to say the words, to ask for help. "Eric, I'm fine. I'm going to make another phone call and then be on my way. You head up and see what Ryan and Yelina have."

Horatio could tell that Eric wasn't buying into a single word of his assurances. That was fine as long as he heard the orders to report to Calleigh and proceed with the case work. And so, he pulled out his cell and called his own home number which prompted Eric to turn and leave him to his privacy.

Hearing the elevator doors close, Horatio finally let go of the steering wheel with the remaining hand and opened the car door.

The walk to his car made him appreciate the good health he had had for so long. He also knew that one day he'd be back to his old self.

Thirty minutes later, he parked in front of a cottage style home. It was one of those places with an exterior that had been left on its own and thus overgrown with vines, palms and trees, and every other opportunistic plant. The only parts of the house that really looked intended were the bright orange door and the new double hung window painted the same color. Against the drab stucco, dotted with dead vine roots, and new vine growth, they looked almost artistic.

Even more inviting was when halfway up the walk, the front door opened and Solange appeared to greet Horatio. "I'm so glad you could come here. Welcome."

"I am sorry for the inconvenience."

"It worked out perfectly. After you called, I got another call from a client wanting the evening time you'd first arranged for. Besides, I can do a much better job here. I have more things to use that will help you."

"Oh?"

"And I can see by the look on your face the sooner I start, the better. So, come this way please."

From the bright front room, Solange led Horatio through a pair of open French doors into large tiled room. The center of this room was occupied by a larger massage table than the one she carried the night before. Beyond the foot of the table, another pair of doors opened out onto a terrace where he heard the shushing rumble of a working hot tub.

Going to a shelf unit, Solange pulled down a towel. "Now, I know you don't carry a suit around with you, so you'll use a towel for going into the hot tub." She pointed. "There's a screen over there."

"I didn't want to put you to this amount of trouble."

The bright eyed woman flashed a happy grin up into Horatio's face. "You called in the middle of the day because you're in pain. My business is pain alleviation without the aid of drugs and when I've tried once and failed, I don't go halfway again. If what I do here doesn't work today, your next step is a doctor and drugs. It's hardly any trouble."

Horatio smiled and walked to the screen. Somewhere, deep behind the occupation with the pain, there lurked a small bit of disappointment that she wasn't doing this as a special treatment of him. Well, who said a caretaker couldn't be attractive as all get-out?

Getting into the tub would have been a challenge if it hadn't been for the narrow steps that took up half of the space.

"Not a great party place, is it?" joked Horatio.

"Believe it or not, the party tub is on the other side of the house. I had this designed for therapeutic use."

She directed him to the bottom and to find the jet filled bench.

Settling his rear into the small niche and raising his legs, he found he leaned against a slight incline.

After escorting him down from the outside, she had walked around to where his head and shoulders stuck out of the water. "Now, I'm going to turn off the jets to the legs and adjust the ones on your back to where I think you've got a problem. You tell me when I've found the right place and the right pressure."

Somewhere out of his view, she manipulated some knobs. Although the hot water was already feeling like a cure, he waited to see what would happen. As some of the jets quieted, others pushed out heated bubbles at a greater rate. The force changed until he had to raise a hand to say, "Right place but too hard."

Half a second later, his world changed to a state of bliss. Heated fingers seemed to not only hit on the major source of the pain, but to run up and down his spine. If not for the giggle in his ear, he would have fallen instantly to sleep.

"I take it from the look on your face, that's just right."

His silence was enough of an answer for her. "I'd leave you to peace and recovery but legally, I can't. Also, to help you feel better, I have this mug of tea. It's got all kinds of herbs that are supposed to do good things for you. Tell me if you need some honey in it."

Taking the tall container, he tentatively took a sip. He had tasted many different concoctions in his life and always had returned to plain black coffee. This, on the whole, wasn't bad.

"Is it okay? Take your time drinking it."

Five minutes after he'd finished, she invited him out, giving him step by step directions, taking his hand to steady him. As he came onto the deck, she gave him a bath sheet.

"Here, use this to dry off. There's another large towel like the one you used last night behind the screen. Just step out when you're ready."

The table received his body like a welcoming friend. Not only was the padding thicker, it was wider and longer. He was sure he detected heat radiating from it, as well.

Even though he felt much better for the hot tub therapy, that first touch of her hands was superior. He couldn't hold back the sigh of relief.

"That's it, let it out," she encouraged quietly.

Almost two hours after he'd walked woodenly into Solange's house, Horatio left feeling more like his old self.

Before parting, she had beseeched him with hands folded and a worried look on her face. "Promise, oh please, promise you'll go home and relax. If you don't I can't guarantee my work will hold. Today worked out well, but who knows if the next time you need me, I'll be available."

He looked down into eyes that danced and twinkled out of dark depths. "Okay doc, I'll go home and relax."

She stepped back, a sweet smile on her lips. "Good. I hope don't need me before our next scheduled appointment."

"I'll see you then."

It was so much easier getting into his car than it had been getting out.

"Calleigh, I won't be back in today."

"I'll explain when I come in tomorrow. No, nothing wrong. How have things been going?"

After a few minutes of listening and nodding, occasionally murmuring agreement with her decisions, he said, "I'd say it sounds like you have everything under control, as usual."

To her next remark, he replied, "I wish I could but I'm actually under orders not to. You see, yesterday I pulled my back. I thought I'd got it taken care of last night but it was worse today. I just got a massage and was told to go home and relax or risk having to go to a doctor for pain killers."

Horatio almost laughed at the uncharacteristically stern tone he heard from who he always had considered to be the most temperate person he knew. "Loud and clear ma'am. I'll see you tomorrow."

He found his skin still tingled from that marvelous touch. Conscious of sitting in his car in front of a single woman's home for an extended period, Horatio started his little red MG and drove off.

Early that evening, dressed in a light terrycloth robe, he was taking a rare opportunity to enjoy his terrace. His half covered legs outstretched on the chaise lounge, he took a sip of the lemon flavored club soda. There had been no afternoon showers so the air was heavy and sweltering still which was to this man's liking. This kind of weather forced one to give in, to surrender the mind to a stillness which the body demanded to survive in this kind of condition.

As soon as his cell on the table beside his drink rang, he knew who it was.

'Damn! He'd gotten so self-involved he'd forgotten.'

"Horatio, I heard you hadn't come back in today. Is everything alright?"

"Yelina, I apologize for not calling. Yes, I'm alright and then again, not quite. I threw my back out."

"Did you go to the doctor?"

"No, went to a massage therapist. I'm feeling alright now. She said I should stay home and relax or the next step will definitely be medical attention."

"She? I thought you saw some man on occasion."

Horatio explained, "I did, but when I last needed a massage he wasn't available. Natalia mentioned a cousin who is an experienced masseuse. She is very good and I'm continuing with her. I guess the pain scrambled me up a bit today. I know we had a date for tonight and I have to beg off."

"Ordinarily you know I wouldn't mind, Horatio, but this is the last night I can use the gift certificate at that restaurant."

"I apologize for the late notice. I would but…"

She cut him off. "I understand." She paused and then went on, "I'm just going to find someone else to go with. You and I have to talk but we can do that tomorrow or the next day."

"Here, tomorrow evening. I'll pick up salads from The Grazing Ground."

So quietly, he almost couldn't hear her voice, she answered, "Alright. I'll see you tomorrow at work."

"That, you will."

Staring out at the rising dusk from the eastern horizon, Horatio wondered how the conversation with Yelina was going to go. He thought he knew and wondered why it had to be that way. What made him such a bastard when it came to women who tried to care for him? Until now, most of the women in his life had needed his care and support. Did it perhaps have anything to do with his mother who not only cared for him as a son had also touched him inappropriately more than once? He quickly threw the thought away; best not to revisit those days.

He leaned back. Yelina was not one to put up with bad behavior. Perhaps he shouldn't put up with his own as well.

xxxx

Yelina's hand slowly dropped from her ear and to her pocket where she slipped her phone. She was so afraid of what the conversation with Horatio was going to bring, she wanted it over ASAP, now, yesterday even. Yes, they had to talk about the state of their relationship. It was more than just about the…what was it? Horatio had called it a glitch but she knew it was so much more. His backing away from her when he'd recovered enough from the attack was hurtful to her. She was showing him care and he'd acted like she was trying to trip him up.

What was going on in that head of his? She had never really been able to figure out Ray entirely, why he'd preferred being out in the field to being at home with her and their son. Yes, his job took him out but he'd made excuses to be out even when he worked close to home. And his bouts of anger with her were frightening. At first, that bad boy, strong man attitude was exciting but it got old when it was turned on her.

Now, with Horatio acting like he had, drawing back like a wounded animal, she was very confused. So, putting a few feelings out on the table would certainly be helpful. Once again, he'd committed to a date and time. She wondered if he would find a way to break that too.

She put that self-conversation aside for the moment. Her thoughts turned to the gift certificate to a fine restaurant some friends had given her. Who to invite to go out to dinner with her tonight?

"Yelina, I got hold of the name of the company that made the shop owner's wig."

"Ryan!"

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Earlier that day, Eric had spent two hours of his time going over the RV in the lab shop. First, he'd documented the exterior damage for traffic reports. This was one part of his CSI training he had passed with flying colors because of his experience as a tow truck driver. After four years of that kind of work, he was well acquainted with what kind of damage to a vehicle meant what. He was careful to document the tips of his own finger prints against the window of the door to the RV, proving he'd held his badge up.

Finishing this, he called upstairs. "Hey, Walter, there's no doubt. I have three different paint transfers on the RV's side which show she clipped three parked cars. Then the rear shows damage consistent with the car that was coming through the intersection on the green light. It couldn't stop or swerve in time and hit the rear of the RV. The rest is according to witness reports that that car spun into another oncoming minivan.

"How's the little girl in the hospital?" Walter asked.

"I called a few minutes ago, still nothing more than fifty-fifty chance right now."

"It's a good thing it's not me talking with the driver."

Eric smiled at the picture of Walter interrogating the teen. "Why? Would you go all Dirty Harry on her?"

Walter's sound of derision was clear. "As if. Naw, all I'd show her is the wrath of an angry black man three times her size. I'm talking vraiment en fache!" He growled his last words.

"Whoa big guy. I hear you but save it someone who could at least defend himself. After I'm done with the inside of the home, I'm going to be in the print lab if you need me."

Having heard from Wolfe that the women seemed to spend a lot of their time cleaning, Eric decided to try for something different. Not only did he dust all of the obvious surfaces, he opened cupboards, especially those in the kitchen, and dusted not only the interior of the door but the contents that seemed most often used. He imagined the salt, pepper, and sugar containers being put out on the table for meals. Then he looked at other spice containers and going on his own preference for spice, he chose the chili pepper flake jar and two other jars that didn't have labels but held what looked to be potent flavorings. The refrigerator got the same treatment.

Upstairs, Calleigh sat down in front of the Nikki and her mother. The girl had nibbled all of her lipstick off by this time and her eye makeup was not quite in the original condition it had been that morning. On the side where she had frequently leaned her head on her mother's shoulder, several strands of light brown hair hung so that the tousled effect was more just messy looking now.

Not wasting time, the very pregnant CSI asked, "Why did you drive away from Officer Delko?"

"I didn't know he was police."

"He was showing his badge and he announced himself loudly enough for the people in the trailer across the street to have heard."

The young girl looked at her mother.

Before Mrs. Hennessy could speak, Calleigh put her hand up, "We've already established your mother wasn't there. Nikki, I'd like to help you but you have to answer my questions and be straight with me."

"I didn't know what else to do. Ma 'n' Pa, they left me to guard the house. I knew he couldn't see in so I figured if I drove off real quick, he'd never catch me."

"Do you know a girl is in the hospital because of you?"

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"That doesn't take the responsibility away from you."

"What can I do about it? I mean, what's done is done."

"Right now, the girl is hovering between life and death. We don't know if she is going to survive or not. You are already responsible for property damages and several other non-life threatening injuries and there will be consequences."

Calleigh paused and then turned her gaze onto the mother. "However, the point at the moment is why you were left alone, Nikki. Can you answer that for me Mrs. Hennessy? No doubt she could fend for herself but you left her alone with a vehicle with the keys. This puts a certain amount of responsibility of what happened this morning onto you."

Meanwhile, next door, Walter was having several problems with Mr. Hennessy.

From the man's demeanor as soon as he'd entered the room, Walter could see there was more than just not liking police. Although he knew nothing of the gypsy culture, he'd have bet almost any amount of money there weren't many blacks among them. Then, considering the license plates, this man was from an area where the feeling of white supremacy still ran deep.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hennessy. I'm CSI Walter Simmons and I'm here to question you about the morning of four days ago."

"Ain't none of your business where I was or what I was doing then, yesterday or anytime."

"On the contrary, it is very much our business. Not only was your vehicle illegally parked four days ago, it was also illegally parked this morning before your daughter drove off and hit three parked cars and caused a major accident."

"You can't prove nothin' about parking and my daughter was damn near attacked by that koo-bain-oh guy."

Walter went on, "What we are most interested in, however, is what you might have seen as you departed from the scene four days ago."

Apparently feeling he was on familiar territory, the man leaned back and folded his hands across his belly. "Why, I saw the road ahead. That's after checking my rear view mirror to be sure I was clear to pull out, of course."

"What did you see across the road?"

"Nothin; I was too busy driving ahead."

"So, a silver Hummer with a large Miami-Dade badge insignia, door open and a red headed man lying on the ground, out cold, just wasn't there?"

The man shrugged as he pushed his lower jaw out. "I guess not. If it was, I didn't see."

"Seeing as how as the man testifies he was in your direct line of sight that day, that's pretty hard to believe."

"It ain't my business to see everything except what's on the road in front of me when I'm driving."

Walter was wishing he could smack the sneer from the man's face.

"Excuse me."

Leaving the room, Walter knocked twice on the glass wall as he passed the room where Calleigh was interviewing the girl. He went on down a few paces to the print lab.

When Calleigh came in, she heard Eric's reply that he didn't, as yet, have any clear prints but then, he was only halfway through the few clear ones he'd come up with.

"What's up Walter?"

"Cal, how's that lead on the other RV going? I hear you found it."

"Oh, and Ryan printed it and searched for a gun but there wasn't enough to hold McCauber on. He was given a citation for illegal parking."

"Yeah, like that'll do us any good."

"What do you think the odds are that he'll pay it?"

Walter's cherubic face spread in a gleeful smile. "So, anytime we want, we can just put out another BOLO. Very smart, Calleigh."

Calleigh stepped back and batted her eyes. "I wish I had thought of that. That's Horatio."

"Speaking of whom, where is he?" Eric asked as he kept his eyes on the AFIS screen.

"He had an emergency appointment and put me in charge."

"So, you're the boss today? Can I have the rest of the day off?" Walter grinned playfully.

Just as playfully, Calleigh grinned back. "No."

Feigning deep disappointment, Walter asked, "Just like that? No? No explanation, nothing?"

"I have something alright. Go back to Mr. Hennessy and see who he was visiting that was important enough to leave his daughter alone with keys in a vehicle she wasn't old enough to drive."

Walter gave a limp salute to his superior. "Yes, ma'am, will do. I'll grill him like a cheeseburger."

Calleigh was saying goodbye to Eric when the AFIS computer made a light ding sound. Eric turned to casually look and called out to Calleigh. "Hey, we got a match from the magic shop wig. Only, you won't believe who."

"Is it the president of the National Women's Association?" Calleigh grinned.

"Close. We don't have a name but it's the same guy that pressed the C-4 into Dowd's wig." He was referring to the partial print found in part of the plastique.

xxxx

The shop is somewhere west of Miami International off of NW 27th. I think it's one of those places that does special effects make-up work. You know, false noses and ears, strange wigs, false eyelashes that can be seen a mile away, that kind of thing." Ryan's voice was raised against the sound of the traffic. He had just directed the Hummer onto the Dolphin Expressway.

Yelina took a look at her wristwatch. "Do you think they'll be open this late in the afternoon?"

Ryan lowered his eyes to the dashboard, took note of the time, and raised them to watch the traffic. "We can always hope. If not, we'll scope out the area and come back tomorrow."

Yelina took a deep breath. Well, best to know now. "Ryan, are you doing anything this evening?"

The heavy vehicle veered slightly in its lane as Ryan turned his head to his partner for the day. "Excuse me?"

"I was given a gift certificate to a very fine restaurant for my birthday and today is the last day I can use it. I was supposed to go with Horatio but he begged off at the last minute."

"I'm not sure I'd be the one to go with you."

"Why not? The reservations are for a couple of hours from now and Horatio said to ask someone else."

"I bet he meant a girlfriend."

"Ryan, my only friends are in the department. But, if you have something to do…"

"No! I mean, going out with the boss' lady is well…well, it's a little strange, especially if the boss isn't along."

"Ryan, are you free or not, will you come or not?"

"I'm flattered to be asked and I'll be honored to go with you."

"Alright. Let's just plan to leave from the lab whenever we get back there."

Just before they arrived at the hair specialty shop, Ryan got the call about the fingerprint in the piece of the other wig.

Catching the manager just as she was locking the front door, they had to look very officious to get her to allow them entrance. Inside, they were all eyes, hoping to see something that would scream murder at them. The small store in the front of the work shop was filled with shelves full of white plastic foam heads, all bewigged in a variety of colors and styles. Some had eyelashes pasted onto the vague eye impressions. Some had noses. On the whole, some might think of the place as a rainbow gone awry, matted with dark shadows of black and grey and then highlighted with odd facial features on titanium white.

Having explained their purpose, Ryan began asking the questions while Yelina began inspecting the rows of wigs. The shelving holding the heads were from floor to ceiling. All of the wigs were labeled with numbers.

"Do you know when you sold that wig to Mr. Crowley, the owner of the magic shop?"

The woman who had given her name as Brittany Hatfield was dressed in a faux country gown, floor length in a small flower print. Having once met a truly Amish country girl and seen the hand stitching on her dress, Ryan knew the difference.

"Let me take a look at the books." As she walked to the other side of the counter, the rounded tips of large boots, the type made to look like what farmers might wear to plow fields, stuck out in front. The difference here was that instead of leather brown they were blue. "Crowley, Crowley, um no, I don't see that name. I'm sorry."

"I know this guy's wig came from here. Your store's name was on the label inside."

"Well, maybe if you tell me what kind of wig it was?"

"Not too much was left." Ryan hesitated since he didn't want to discuss the details. "What we have seems to be a sort of fright wig, basically black hairs standing on end and then stripes of white running through from the temples."

"Let me try something." She used one hand to absentmindedly pull a wisp of hair from the side of her face and tuck it into the prim bun at her neck. She returned to the book, flipped a tab to another section and ran her finger down. "Yes, here it is. He was specific as to the look of it. He ordered it under the store's name, 'Now You See It Magic'. Since it was something he wanted to wear every day, all day, he wanted a custom fit."

Ryan turned and nodded at Yelina. "So, it wasn't just bulk ordered from some other company? It was made here?"

The girl's thin lips twitched as she cast her gaze to the floor. "I suppose you need to see back there?"

Yelina took pity on the young manager. "We'll try to be quick."

From the shop, a door in back led directly to the large workroom. A flip of a switch brought to life a harsh glare from overhead neon lights.

"Where was this wig made?"

The girl ran back to get the ledger and returned. "Actually, it was probably constructed at two tables, at least. The guy who did the fitting work is a part time man. We don't often get a request for a fitted piece. Most clown or actor's wigs are sewn onto a stretch fabric so it can fit almost any size or shape head."

"Can you direct me to his table?"

"Oh, dear, he uses any table that's free." The girl's face knit up into her apologies.

Ryan puffed out his cheeks and blew in frustration. "Alright, what's his name and address?"

The girl almost ran off before Ryan stopped her. "Wait! Do you know where the rest of the work was done?"

Referring to the book again, she pointed at a workbench against a wall. "Over there. Once the base is done, Molly Sugworth gets the design and adds the hair accordingly."

Heading for the table as if the evidence might disappear before he could get to it, Ryan dropped his case on the floor and started pulling out equipment.

"While he is busy with that, you can give me the full name and the address of the man who made part of the wig." Yelina kept her voice quiet and polite.

Instead of returning to the front, Miss Hatfield took Yelina to a large room that had been built in the corner of the work room. She unlocked the door and pulled it open. "This is where the office is and the wig supplies."

"You keep the supplies under lock and key?"

"The boss is something of a cheapskate. He's afraid someone might steal a spool of polyester or a sock hat."

By this time, Brittany had turned on a computer and opened a spread sheet. "Yeah, okay, here it is. The guy we use to do custom fitting is Hermes Thibodaux."

"Will Ms. Sugworth be in to work tomorrow?"

"She should be." The girl's eyes rolled. "The boss is supposed to stop in and sign checks too."

"Good, what's his name?"

"Mr. Barton."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Hey, Yelina, I had a really good time last night. Thanks."

"I did too, Ryan. That's a good place to eat, too."

"Maybe the company had something to do with it."

They ended their conversation as they walked into the evidence room where Horatio, Calleigh, Walter, and Eric had already gathered for the morning meeting.

Calleigh began with summarizing what she had assigned them to do the day before. Then she asked everyone to say what they had come up with.

Walter started with the little he had gotten out of Mr. Hennessy besides belligerence. "When I asked him who, besides family might have been in the RV in the last few days, all he could say was 'a lot of different people.'"

Eric came in with his part. "I had the prints from the RV and the wigs running all night and have still come up with nothing."

"So, what do you think the connection might be?"

Eric shrugged while he examined his shoes, and shook his head slowly. "Probably none."

"I'm going to see if Nikki is any more forthcoming after a night in jail. Maybe she'll be able to say who the visitors were."

Walter was slouched against one of the counters. "I'm still trying to run down these people's activities in the last few weeks. If we can find where they were and when, we might have a better idea of how this all goes together."

"Yelina and I may have done a little better. We went to the place the magic shop guy's wig came from and barely caught the manager before she was locking up. Two people were involved in making the wigs and both were gone home. One only comes in part time for specialty work. I took prints from the main worker's table and some from the back door and the two windows in the workroom. One of the windows looked like it might have been jimmied at some time but it was repaired and repainted."

"What did the manager have to say about that?"

"Just that the area where the shop is located is a place where there are a lot of homeless people looking for places to sleep at night. When they noticed the damage, they did a quick inventory and found nothing missing so just got it repaired and put in an insurance claim.

We'll go back and interview the second one at the shop today and hopefully the boss. He only comes in once in a while. Then we'll go to the home address of the other guy and see what we get."

"Who made the wig?" Calleigh was making notes as everyone spoke.

Yelina referred to her notes. "Molly Sugden."

"And who is the boss you'll be talking to?"

"Dickensian Barton."

Eric's head rose with a jerk. "Barton? As in the guy who owns the fancy toupee shop that made our first vic's piece?"

"You mean he owns both places?"

Horatio smiled. "It would make sense, don't you think?"

Eric asked the next logical question. "Who was the specialist who also worked on the wig?"

When he heard the name, he looked at Horatio. "That's the guy who gave me such a hard time at Barton's Toupee shop."

Horatio looked up at Eric and smiled as he whispered, "Well, this just gets more interesting, doesn't it? Why don't we go pay Mr. Thibodaux a visit and see who gives who a hard time."

He turned to Yelina and smiled. Both knew they had an important date that night. Then his gaze widened as he also looked at Ryan.

"You two interview Ms. Sugden and see if she remembers anything about the magician's wig before she handed it over for delivery. If Barton is there, well and good. Talk to him about why anyone would target his clients. If he doesn't show up, head to his toupee shop."

Pushing his bulk off from the counter, Walter's boyish voice declared, "I'll see who Hennessy was visiting while he left his daughter alone. Maybe these cousins could give us a lead on who might have visited the RV long enough to have left prints that casual cleaning didn't get."

Calleigh chirruped, "I'll see if there's anything yet on our garden guy. I know Tom found bella donna in the stomach. Maybe there's more the body itself can tell. Then I'll talk with Nikki." She almost turned away when she paused, snapping her fingers. "Eric, before you leave, check in with Valera to see what she got on the biologicals on Dowd's sheets."

Letting Eric go on, Horatio remained with Calleigh for a moment. "Thank you for taking over on such short notice."

"I was worried about you."

In anticipation of going outside, Horatio had already pulled out his glasses. He toyed with the ear pieces as he smiled. "I decided to have my back tended to before I had to be put in traction."

Calleigh smiled familiarly. "Massage?"

The skin around Horatio's sky-blue eyes crinkled as he looked at the blonde seated on the stool in front of him. "One of Natalia's cousins is a massage therapist and very good too."

Calleigh guffawed, apparently disturbing the infants inside her. She rubbed her growing middle as she said, "That girl has a relative for every purpose.

"So, did she do the trick?"

"I think so. I'm going to take it easy for another day or two."

Calleigh didn't say what she was thinking which was 'fat chance.'

Horatio didn't say what had passed through his mind either which was the memory of warm comforting hands, not only on his lower back but nearly his entire body. And, not one bit of it had been sensual. How strange was that?"

"Calleigh, Horatio, nothing but Dowd's remains on the sheets." Eric was hanging on the door frame as he spoke. "In fact, she says that from the amount, it's doubtful he had much of a sex life."

Horatio stood quietly for a moment, his head slightly turned as he reviewed what he knew about sexual assaulters and his own personal experiences with them for over thirty years. Coming out of his trance, he said softly, "Apparently Mr. Dowd kept his assaults outside of his home."

He turned to Calleigh. "I know you have a full plate here but I'm going to have to add to it. Please look up any criminal record that Crowley might have. Maybe there's a connection between Dowd's sexual assault charges and Crowley."

Anyone made of less fine metal than this woman would have slumped under the extra load. This one, the most petite of the CSI team, simply brightened at the challenge. "I'll call as soon as I find anything."

Now striding purposefully out of the second-in-command's lab-office area, Horatio pulled out his cell. "Frank, I'm going to need a warrant for a Hermes Thibodaux's fingerprints. Thanks." He gave the police detective the particulars and hung up.

Before replacing the phone he called Ryan. "Yelina should have a list of names of women who filed complaints against Dowd. Once you're done with Ms. Sugden and Mr. Barton, please start interviewing them. Keep me posted."

In the speeding hummer, to pass the time, Eric commented on his boss' absence.

Horatio framed his words carefully. "Eric, it's hard getting to be my age in our line of work. Just remember, that as you do, do it carefully."

Knowing that was the only reply he was going to get, Eric propped his elbow on the car's window ledge and leaned his chin against his knuckles. He stared out the window watching the scenery go by.

At the second floor apartment, they heard Hermes Thibodeaux growl before he answered the loud knock, "I'm coming, dammit! Hold on!"

The man's face turned from a frown to a snarl as he looked up at Eric and then Horatio. "What the hell do you want? And who're you?"

"Mr. Thibodeaux, I need to get your fingerprints and to ask you a few questions." Eric showed his badge more as a formality than to indicate the man might not remember who he was.

"And what are you here for Red? Laughs?"

Brushing the skirts of his jacket back, showing his gold badge and his pistol, Horatio identified himself. "As to what I'm here for, let's just say backup."

The little man raised his hands out from his side and turned slowly around. His t-shirt was tucked neatly into his shorts which were held up with a belt around his ample middle. Below the ragged cutoff level of the shorts were stocky bare legs ending in bare feet. "Uh, let's see if I have this right. I'm five feet two and three quarters inches tall and if I'm right, you are each six feet tall. You outreach and outweigh me as well. Now, what's this about backup?"

"Would you like us to take the fingerprints here where everyone can see or inside?" Eric's straightforward attitude carried a no nonsense tone.

"By the way, have you got a warrant?"

Eric showed him the electronic version on his phone. "We could wait an hour or so for someone to deliver the paper version if you want."

Thibodaux made a face like he had just gotten a whiff of decomp. "Like you wouldn't think of some reason to haul me downtown if I don't."

Neither Horatio or Eric said anything, allowing Thibodeaux come to his own conclusions.

The scruffily bearded man sighed and stood aside to allow the two admittance into his apartment. Standing in the middle of the sun bright room he put out his hands. "Alright, ink me up and let's get this over with."

Eric let his mouth spread in a smile as he set his case down on the floor and opened it. "We do better than that now." He reached into the case and pulled out a SmartPad. "Sit down." He turned on the device and poked his finger at the screen a couple of times.

Once Thibodeaux was seated on the well worn couch, Eric put the electronic pad on his lap and ordered, "Put your right palm on the pad making sure the tips of your fingers are pressed firmly." The screen blinked and then Eric said, "Now put just your thumb, print down, onto the pad." Again the screen blinked. He then had Thibodeaux repeat the actions using his left hand.

Watching Eric retrieve the pad and put it back into his case and close it up, Thibodaux stood and asked, "Okay, I'll bite, what did that do?"

"I was using a print program on the pad. It photographed your prints and they were just sent, using Wi-Fi, to our lab where they were automatically entered into our database and run against some prints we picked up at Barton's Toupee and on the wig that killed Dowd."

Thibodeaux scowled up through his eyebrows. "Is that it?"

Horatio had been looking around, hoping to see something that looked out of place. "No, Mr. Thibodaux, it isn't. We found you had something to do with a second victim who died under exactly the same circumstances as Mr. Dowd. This wig was created at your second place of work."

"Oh, you mean Wigs and More? So who bought the farm now?"

"A certain Marvin Crowley."

The man shook his head. "Don't know him. You sure I did a wig for him?"

Horatio described the wig and named the shop.

"Oh yeah, come to think of it, I do know him. He's another escapee from the carnies."

"Excuse me?"

"People who used to work the traveling carnival shows like I did. For me, being a kid with a record, it was one of the few businesses that would hire me."

A faraway look of fond memories entered the gray green eyes. "Yeah, I started out doing the setup work, moved to running the booths and then went into doing costumes and wigs for clowns. I did one of the last ones Dowd used as a balloon clown."

"So, you knew him too?"

"Just in the business sense. That story about him being a circus clown was a lie. Still, he was a good guy. He's the one who thought I'd do okay in the real toupee business so he sent me to Barton. The rest, as they say, is history."

"You realize, of course, that you made two wigs and both killed people."

"I've made lots of wigs and most are still floating around town on their owner's heads, both whole and happy."

"Do you have any idea why anyone would have anything against Barton's customers?"

"Not inside of either of Barton's shops. But then, Barton doesn't like us talking about customers among ourselves so who knows what anyone thought? All I know is, I don't have nothing against any of them."

"Well, thank you for your time. We'll get back to you if we need anything more."

"Yeah, yeah, and don't leave town, I know. Good bye and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out."

Both men held their silence on their way down the stairs. Many doors and windows were open to catch the morning breeze and what they thought was of no concern to any who might hear.

This was just as well for Horatio. Climbing the stairs to get to Thibodeaux' apartment had been no problem but even using the decorative bannister rails for support on the way down, he could feel his back muscles straining to the limit.

"Now what?" asked Eric.

"Back to the lab. I need to pick something up and you can check on Thibodeaux' prints."

The something the head CSI wanted to pick up was a heating patch that he could apply to his back. He hoped the heat the thing would exude would offer some relief before he had to holler 'uncle' and go see a doctor.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Ms. Sugden, I'm CSI Wolfe and this is police detective Salas.

"Oh, yes, Brit said you would be in. And please call me Molly." Facing the two detectives sat one of those elderly women who had obviously been quite a beauty in her younger days.

"You did the finishing work on a wig for the owner of the Now You See It Magic shop."

"The what?" The woman laid the tool she'd been using on the table and lowered her eyes in as if considering the possiblilty. "Are you sure we made it?"

"It was in the ledgers Ms. Hatfield looked at yesterday. It had a custom fit base done by Thibodeaux and the hair was black with white streaks."

After a moment of continued confusion played on the finely wrinkled skin, the woman snapped her fingers. "Oh! My goodness! That was for Crowley. I remember the clients themselves more than any business names."

Yelina bent over and put her elbows on Molly's workbench. She then folded her hands together and cradled her chin. Using her most charming smile, she looked into Molly's face and asked, "What do you remember about it?"

"Oh, nothing, in particular except for the special fit and the color design. Why?"

"Unfortunately, the wig was a bomb. It blew the top of Mr. Crowley's head off."

"That's terrible! Surely you're not accusing me!" The woman drew back from Yelina.

Yelina stood and put a hand on the offended woman's shoulder. "We're not accusing you. We just wanted to know if there was any way it could have been rigged between your table and the customer."

"Hardly. Like everyone who special orders, he wants it as soon as it's done. I finished it one day and he had it at some point the next."

"So, how long did it take for you to make the wig?"

Now on more familiar territory, Molly put an elbow on her table and leaned against it. "Oh, I'd say four days or so. It was one of those things that wasn't frizzed but had to stand out so the hairs were tightly packed."

"Did you leave it on the table at night?"

"Sure, like always."

Yelina gave a glance to Ryan that signaled this would get them nowhere.

"Molly, thank you so much. If you think of anything, could you give me a call?" Yelina handed the wigmaker a card.

Heading for the door to the store, they were stopped when it opened.

The tall black man that entered smiled beguilingly at them both and welcomed them to his store.

"Mr. Barton, just the man we wanted to see."

"You must be the police. Ms. Hatfield said you wanted to talk to me? I already talked to someone the other day."

Ryan continued, "Did you know another customer of yours had his head blown off yesterday morning?"

Barton's dark skin took on a pasty pallor. "Lord in heaven! Who?"

Hearing the name, some color returned as he questioned, "Who? I have no idea who that could be."

Responding to the explanation, Barton responded, "I'm not really acquainted with that part of society. This shop was in response to many requests from people who knew people who knew my toupee clients. You know how that is."

Using as much restraint as he could, Ryan answered quietly, "No, not really. It must be nice to know only the crème de la crème. So, who would know about this store, the second half of your bread and butter?"

Obviously aware he had offended this officer and not sure how, he timidly replied, "My worker, Hermes Thibodeaux might know more about this gentleman."

Once again, Ryan and Yelina exchanged looks. There was that name again.

"Okay, let me ask you this, why would anyone have anything against your customers in general?"

Forlorn, the elegantly slender man slumped slightly. "I can't think why. I'm a good man. I give to my church. I volunteer. I'm honest. I'm certainly trustworthy. There's just no reason."

Giving his card to Barton, Ryan thanked him.

Before starting the engine of the hummer, Ryan looked over at Yelina. "You the buying the Boy Scout act?"

Yelina stared out the windshield at the small crepe myrtle tree growing in the parking lot's green strip. "I think so. I mean, even if he's not such a saint, anyone having something against him would hit his shop or him."

"Just in case the wig wasn't rigged in the shop, I think we'd better go to Crowley's home and see if there's any sign of a recent break-in."

Ryan's first call to Calleigh garnered the address.

His next call was to Horatio. He told the lieutenant about Barton saying Thibodeaux might have more information about the second client.

"Yes, we've already been told. You are going to check out Crowley's home?"

"On our way now, H."

xxxx

"Calleigh, I can't get a thing out of Hennessy. I think he doesn't like big, black, confident men."

"That's alright, Walter. Once I let Nikki's mother read her Tarot cards for me, she blabbed like a school girl."

"Tarot? You don't believe in that, do you?"

"Only on alternate Thursdays when there's the third blue moon of the year. She didn't tell me anything I don't already know. Anyway, their cousins' name is McRea."

Obtaining the address, Walter said he'd go talk to the people and see if they, perhaps, lived in a trailer park.

"I hope you get something. We can't hold Mr. Hennessey much longer on just a parking violation."

Walter was about to add something when Calleigh's phone rang. Rather than wait, he turned and left the lab.

Ten minutes later, Calleigh entered the realm of the dead under the police-lab building.

"What have you got, Tom?"

Dr. Loman went to the bank of chilled vaults where bodies were kept for further examination. He opened a door, one up from the bottom, and pulled out a metal tray. There lay the grimacing man. The scars of the autopsy exam were revealed as he pulled the sheet down to the man's pelvis.

"Doing the autopsy, I noticed some healed bone fractures. At first I assumed the man had perhaps been in an accident but then I realized the fractures I was looking at had healed at different times. Then I thought perhaps he had at one time engaged in a rough sport but I couldn't actually pin any particular sport to the type and location of breaks I saw. I decided to do a full X-ray and this led me to finding that he had also trochanteric bursitis." He said this last as if it answered all questions.

Calleigh desperately tried to recall her Physiology classes. Pushing her hair back across her shoulder, she asked, "I'm sorry Tom but could you explain why that is pertinent?"

Tom was always happy to explain anything that had to do with what the dead had to say to him. "You only get that kind of bursitis by sitting for extended periods of time. It takes years to develop. This man did not engage in any sports from what I can judge, much less rough ones."

"So where did he get the fractures?"

"Ah! That was the second revelation from the X-ray machine."

He led Calleigh to the light box where he had several X-ray films exhibited. Look at the arm here; what do you see?"

"Healed fracture; a defensive wound."

"There are a total of seven; four on this arm and three on the other. Three are within the last couple of years. The rest come from teen or even preteen years."

He pointed to the ribs. "Six rib fractures and one break. I'm surprised he survived this one break. That was done over a year ago. Three were done in his childhood."

Finally he came to three views of the head, two side views and one front. "Look at the orbital bones around the eyes. I'm fairly certain I recognize this as a blow from a frying pan or a similar flat object. I saw a few of those when serving as an ER intern. The other two scars I'm not sure about. These this side views show a number of minor concussions." Running out of enthusiasm, the Medical Examiner turned to Calleigh.

She picked up the conclusion. "This man has been severely beaten over a period of years, hasn't he?"

Tom's expressive face now showed a mix of sadness and anger. "He was someone's punching bag for quite some time. It's probable he went from an abusive childhood relationship to at least one the adult one, considering the time period."

Tom paused and then said decisively, "I'm going to send out a general e-mail to the ERs in the area where he was found and see if we get a bite. I'm betting we won't get a correct name but we'd know if he's been here for a while or just moved from some other area."

"Short of that, our only hope right now is a new program Vince has been working on. Instead of just going through law enforcement, this program pulls up any site on the internet that has pictures of people."

"With the way some people put out photos of family and friends, wouldn't that be billions?"

Calleigh's smile didn't reflect happiness, "Not quite. This program eliminates by race, height and age. It still means hitting every picture but if it doesn't come within the parameters, there's no comparison made. Still, it could be weeks."

Tom's smile was one of resignation. "I'll just crank down the temperature a couple of notches in his cubicle. He'll keep."

"Anything more from our second head explosion?"

Wagging his head, Tom said, "No, it's pretty much the same as the first. Maybe a tad more C-4 used, that's all."

xxxx

Not having found any evidence of a break-in at Crowley's home, Yelina and Ryan had to go to another line of evidence entirely.

"Mrs. Serrano? We're sorry to bother you. We're doing some work on a homicide."

Yelina and Ryan watched the woman draw back at the H word as most civilians did. "I don't understand."

To the second typical reaction, Yelina explained that Flower Pott was dead and they wanted some information on some of the parties he had performed at.

A few minutes later, they were all seated in what, by Miami standards, was the living room of an upper middle class home. The shadeless French doors showed the large patio and the larger swimming pool beyond.

"I hardly remember that far back. It was, what, fifteen years ago?"

"What birthday were you celebrating for your son?"

"His sixth. We did the circus theme with him dressed as a ringmaster in a red coat and top hat, a circus cake, and, of course, Flower Pott. Willy didn't really know who Flower Pott was, but I knew he'd be a good clown because he'd been on TV for so long. He was too, he really ran the party."

"I'm sure he was a good clown, ma'am. What we're most concerned with was his interaction with you or perhaps any of the other mothers at the party."

"What do you mean?"

"Did he get…," Yelina paused as if looking for the right word. What she was doing was waiting for the woman to 'remember' on her own.

"Did he perhaps get a little personal with you? Maybe inappropriately?"

Mrs. Serrano made a face. "Well-l-l, maybe he got a little silly. We were supposed to be playing snake where everyone hugs the person in front and the group snakes about the room. He was behind me and grabbed my breasts and squeezed. I squawked and the kids thought it was funny. The thing was, he apologized afterwards, even said he'd forfeit his fee."

"Did you keep any of it back?"

The middle aged woman flapped her hand. "Not one cent. He'd entertained the kids and I wasn't going to blackmail him for being a stupid man."

"And what did Willy think of the whole thing?"

"As far as I know, all he thought was that he had a great time."

Outside in the hummer, Ryan and Yelina looked at each other. Their silence was cop communication for 'nothing here, let's see what the next one brings'.

Yelina was behind the wheel now.

The next home was definitely Miami riche, on the waterfront, private dock, with an infinity pool facing the ocean.

Mrs. Ramirez looked like a woman who worked so hard to maintain her beauty, her features had become hardened. Her high cheekbones were accentuated by a hollowness beneath which accentuated a square jawline. Her figure was bone and muscle covered in costly swags which she, for some reason, liked to hold together with large bits of precious metals.

When Yelina mentioned the date of the party, the woman blanched.

"That was a long time ago."

"How old was Rafael then?"

The hardness softened as she smiled showing a bank of ultra-white teeth that were too large for her mouth. "I think he was seven."

To the big question, the answer was a definite no. Her husband and two bodyguards were on hand.

"Although, he did pull just what you said on my friend Annie Van Hought about two months later."

Half an hour later, Annie, who had the same starved, worked, aging looks was saying, "Oh he apologized but I filed a complaint against him anyway. Geert was furious when he found out."

"Did Junior know what happened?"

"After the fact, he knew I was mad at Flower Pott. I don't know if he remembers it now."

Half an hour later, the three of them were at Geert, Junior's private academy speaking with the boy in the principal's office. His mother had given permission to talk with him alone.

"I don't remember much about it. I was only four."

"What do you remember?"

Young Geert recalled that the party was a blur of activity and for a while the mothers got involved with dancing and snaking and all. There were screams and sometimes the kids got mad and then the parents got mad. "Afterwards I think Mom was upset about the clown. So was Dad. I don't think I knew why."

Looking at the boy in the blazer sitting with perfect posture, speaking in even measured tones, the two knew he wasn't one to pack a wig with C-4.

An hour later, the home they were in what was lower middle class home, at best. The woman was neither neat nor polished although, at one time she might have been. "Flower Pott? Gosh, I haven't thought about him in years!"

The frumpy woman moved a blanket, a box of tissues and a plate from the couch onto the heavy wood coffee table. Motioning for her guests to be seated, she threw herself onto a recliner. "He's dead, is he? That's a cryin' shame."

"Did he perform at your son's birthday party?"

"A couple of them. Morgan and I were friends from the carny days."

"Carny? I thought he was a circus clown."

The too bright shade of blonde let out a cackling laugh that got lost in the clutter around her. "He was a balloon clown. You know, one of those clowns that sells balloons at the carnivals. He kept changing his look until he found the flower pot to put in the wig. That and a few changes to the face and the outfit and suddenly he was selling balloons like they was going out of style."

"And you two kept in touch?"

"Yeah, when I got knocked up with Marky and was losing my figure, I married Marky's father and we moved here. We was tired of the constant traveling and all anyway. He wanted to settle down and open a knife shop. Pottsy, I always called him that, was already here."

She laid her head back and said dreamily, "Marky's father thought, because he did this fake knife throwing act, he knew all about them. I didn't want the darned things around my baby. We fought about that all the time. Then, when Marky was eight, we got divorced. C'est la vie and all that."

"Were you and Dowd close friends?"

"Sort of. I mean…oh, I know what you're getting at. Yeah, he loved to play snatch'n'grab with the mothers. He never meant no harm by it. I guess I let him go too far being from the carny world and all."

"Too far?"

"Well, both times we got all touchy feely after the party. Well, even during the party when we did the snake dance and then later in the hallway while the other mothers were supposed to be running the cake and ice cream eating part. You'd be surprised at how little those clowns wear under their costumes." She tittered behind her hand and rolled her eyes.

"But you didn't mind?"

"Hey, Marky's pop was done with me before we got divorced. I was in need of a little attention."

"So your husband was out of the picture by that time?"

"Hell yeah. Not that I wouldn't have played around a little anyway. Morgan really knew how to treat a lady in the hay."

"Where is Marky now?"

Trixie Blare's face took a sudden turn for the worse. Her eyebrows began knitting themselves into knots, her lips fumbled over each other as if trying to decide who would lose control first and her eyelids fluttered over gushing wells, flooding her cheeks. "My baby isn't home anymore."

"Where is he?"

"He put himself into one of those loony bins."

Yelina tilted her head as her eyes opened wide. "Excuse me? He committed himself into an asylum?"

"Yeah. He says he won't come out until he's cured."

"Cured of what?"

Motioning for the box of tissues on the coffee table, she cuddled it in her arm as she dabbed at her face. "I don't get it. I mean, yeah, he had a drug problem. Gosh, what kid doesn't anymore? Is that any reason to say you're crazy and walk into Huntington Hospital?"

"So, do you think he would remember the parties?"

The look on the face changed again, this time to sharp anger. "I'm telling you my baby thinks he's nuts and you want to know if he remembers birthday parties?"

Before they knew it, Ryan and Yelina were outside on the porch hearing the last echo of the slammed door.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

They put some distance between that door and themselves before speaking. Yelina saying, "Did you get all of that?"

Ryan referred to his notebook. "Let's see, she knew Flower Pott from their mutual days in the carnival business. We didn't ask what she did there but I bet it wouldn't be hard to find out. She left when she got pregnant. Apparently people are all friendly in the carnival business so she wasn't surprised to hear our questions about Dowd's amorous advances. The only thing is, there's no angry husband in the picture and if the son was angry, there's no evidence of it."

"Not necessarily. Emotionally disturbed people often fixate. Seeing a clown and his mother together may have stuck with him."

"Seeing my mom getting it on with a clown would sure stick with me."

"I'm wondering why he put himself into a sanitarium."

The grounds around the Huntington Hospital were spacious and park like with great ancient trees and broad expanses of both cut and wild growing grasses. Along the gravel walkways were benches. Beside each bench was a column with a button. When Ryan pushed the button on one of the short stone columns he heard a short description of the location in relation to the hospital and then an assurance that the listener was just fine and in no danger.

Inside the building, the receptionist directed them down the hallway to what she called the 'crafts' room. To get there, they went down a hallway of polished floors and mostly open doors. Some doorways revealed clean bright offices and some plain, neat bedrooms. At the door labeled Crafts, they walked in and were immediately greeted by a variety of stares from about fifteen pairs of eyes. All hands stopped in midaction.

"Can I help you?" A tall man dressed in a nurse' outfit covered in Mickey Mouse and Pluto pictures walked toward them.

Answering their inquiry, as if without a thought, he directed the two officers to a young man at the back of the room seated at a bench. His eyes had been among the first to pull back from them and return to his work. The activity seemed to be a confusion of wires and sticks. He was soldering the wires around the sticks. If any of it made any sense, it was probably only to him.

"Hi! Are you Marky?"

"I am and please don't talk to me as if I'm hard of hearing or aged five." Not raising his eyes, a slight smile played across his attractive features. "I'm emotionally disturbed, not stupid."

In a more serious tone, Ryan continued. "We just came from your mother's house. We were asking her about what she knew of Flower Pott, the clown."

The young patient's hands froze for a second and then continued to work on the mass of wires and ice cream sticks on the bench. "Who?"

"He performed at a couple of your birthday parties."

"Did he? I don't remember. I must have been very young."

"Marky, where were you five or six nights ago?"

"I was here in the hospital, like always."

"Are you sure?"

"Nurse Bill! Make these people go away! Take me to my room! Help!" The lack of affect in Marky's demeanor belied his words

Still, the switch from the calm quiet answers to the loud demands for help was so sudden, both Yelina and Ryan stepped back in unison. They looked powerlessly at the advancing nurse.

"I'm sorry. You'll have to go." He positioned himself between the officers and Marky and there was no doubt who he was protecting from whom.

Helpless in the circumstances, they left the room.

Ryan took a quick look back and saw that Marky had returned to his soldering. "I wonder why they let patients use tools like that?"

Yelina touched Ryan's arm and nodded toward the interior. "We might want to take a look inside that desk. He might be working on more than sticks and wires."

"We can try getting a warrant. I don't think it will be easy. Maybe Marky is as smart as he thinks he is."

Their next stop was the hospital office. Introducing themselves, they wanted to know Marky's whereabouts five nights before and any of several before that. They were disappointed to find that the patients were free to come and go as they chose and no records were kept.

"This is a place of purely voluntary admittance. All of the people seek help from a variety of clinical problems." Mrs. Dennison, the Supervisor, remained seated before them.

"He has that kind of money?"

"Marky Dubois? Heavens no. He qualifies as a complete charity case. To achieve funding status from the government, we have several tiers of qualifications. Those who can pay, do. Those who need help paying are given it and so on. As I recall, Marky has been unable to hold onto a job all of his adult life."

"Wait, I thought his last name was Blaire."

"He's registered as Dubois. I think he used his father's name. He lists it as Marquez Dubois."

Feeling like he was starting all over for about the third time since he'd entered the facility, Ryan asked, "What does he suffer from?"

"Severe depression, some paranoia. He may even be schizophrenic. He came in asking us to stop him from killing himself. Later he admitted he had desires to kill others."

Both Ryan and Yelina spoke at the same time, "Others?"

Mrs. Dennison rolled her eyes. "Oh, you know, the usual list for a paranoid; the mailman, the six year old girl next door, the guy who stalked the shelves at the local supermarket."

"Did he ever mention clowns?" Ryan tried to make it sound as innocent as he could.

"Now that you mention it, a clown was one of the usual suspects missing from his ramblings. I mean, the only reason I know about any of this is he seemed to think I was in charge of who could come in through the front doors. He often stopped by and quizzed me about who came looking for him."

"Do you know where he was four or five nights ago? I mean, was he here at the hospital?"

"Sorry. Stay here is purely voluntary and they can walk out anytime. If they leave without notice, we give them one week to return and then they forfeit their place. We take the next patient and give them the room. As long as they show up for meds, appointments with the doctors and meals we leave them to themselves."

"Seems sort of haphazard."

"Better than enforced incarceration."

"On what basis was he even admitted?"

"He said he often thought of killing himself and swore he would kill the ones who were after him if they didn't leave him alone. That put him at the top of the list."

"Wouldn't that qualify him for a state mental institution?"

"Only if he had actually taken steps in either direction."

They inquired about the possibility of looking at the desk Marky used in the crafts room. Hearing the drawer's contents were his private property until he left permanently, they left.

Fort-five minutes later, Ryan and Yelina were listening to a young man who hardly looked old enough to be an investment banker.

"It took me a long time to get that image out of my head. Thanks for bringing it back." The frown was negating the gratitude.

"Just how far into, uh, shall we say, embrace were Flower Pott and your mom?"

"Embrace hell! They were doing it! The thing is, I didn't know what they were doing. It looked like this big, ugly-ass clown and my mother were fighting."

"It must have upset you."

Deshawn Wilson looked balefully at Yelina. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Where was your father at this time?"

"He was in the living room playing with the toys I had gotten for my birthday."

"Did you tell him what you'd seen?"

The dark faced young man stared into space, his knuckles against his generous lips as if to keep them from forming words. "He'd heard and told me not to bother them. I did anyway and when I came back and said Mom and the clown were fighting in the bedroom, he shushed me."

"Your dad didn't care?"

Leaning forward, Deshawn shook a finger. "I don't know what he thought. It's been over ten years so why do you care?"

"You ever see Flower Pott after that?"

"I didn't much care for clowns after that. Then Mom and Dad were killed in a car accident and I moved in with my aunt." He leaned back and smiled sadly. "Anyway, she had four kids already so clowns for parties were a bit much and like I said, I did not care!"

Thanking Mr. Wilson, the two drove on.

The next response was more like something they had started their day expecting. "Dead? You know who killed him? Was it a woman? I bet it was a woman. I know I sure wanted to off him a few years ago."

Marva Stowe went on at some length about hiring him seven years previously to perform at her little girl's party. Getting involved in the festivities, she'd been fondled. Demanding an apology, she said he denied everything so she had filed a lawsuit. This brought her some hush money but no satisfaction. "Now that he's dead, I'm going to tell anyone who will listen what a lowlife he was."

An hour later, they were talking with Delilah Stowe, Marva's daughter. "No, I didn't see anything but I remember Mama being really mad at the clown so, of course, I was mad at him too. What I thought was strange was that Daddy didn't want to do anything." The smartly dressed young woman nervously checked her phone messages.

"I bet Mama isn't shedding any tears over Flower Pott's death. I'll have to give her a call."

On the way to the lab, Ryan asked the inevitable question, "Do you think Delilah was mad enough to shear Flower Pott's locks the hard way?"

"Let's take a look at her background. As it is, she's a sales rep for a solar panel company. Unless she's had experience with plastic explosives, I'd say not."

"Marky's crazy enough, or so he says."

"How does he get access to the materials?"

"Well, we know he's got wiring and a soldering gun. When we get inside the desk or his room, we'll have to see if there are any mini-boards or explosives."

"Deshawn?"

"Same as Delilah, we'll have to check on his background."

xxxx

"Calleigh! I think we got a hit on our garden guy." Vince was hanging on the door frame as if a tide were trying to draw him back into the AV lab. The more Calleigh showed her pregnancy, the more nervous he got in her presence.

The very pregnant woman wondered what a normal, single baby pregnancy would have been like. She knew that one fetus grew by leaps and bounds and therefore that two were growing twice as fast. Still, she was always amazed that whenever she moved she felt like she had gained another five pounds. Holding onto the table, she eased herself off of the stool and down to the floor. Determined not to waddle, she made an effort to glide across the hallway.

Looking at the image on the screen she said, "Well, he's definitely younger by twenty years. What makes you think this is him?"

"Not me, the criteria I set up. Finding age relevant photos was the hard part too. I couldn't just look for now pictures but any taken ever at all. So, if he was born in 1972 I'm looking for an infant with gray eyes and curly, brown hair. In 1985 I'm looking for a teen with probably darker hair but these general features and so on. Here he's nineteen and in a community college yearbook getting an associate arts degree."

"But this is a Facebook picture. They didn't have Facebook or any of that kind of thing in 1991."

"This was put in by a girlfriend of his at the time. She has a 'Has Anyone seen These People?' page."

"I'm guessing she had no response?"

"Her page hasn't been active for four years. I'm guessing she lost interest."

"But, we have him."

"Indeed we do. His name is Norbert Ditka. He went to the community college in Canby, Minnesota."

"And?"

"He graduated from the high school in the same town. I called and they said they'll get back to us on his previous school records."

"Now, fast forward. How did he get to Miami?"

Vince was letting his hair grow out again. He'd cut the main off and sported trimmed sides for a while. Now it was at the bushy stage. He slowly shook his head. "I have no clue. Would you believe there is no trace of him?"

"Driver's license, social security?"

"I mean nothing. After he got his AA degree, there are no tax records, no drivers' licenses, no property records, marriage licenses, nothing, zip, nada."

"Did he have a drivers' license before?"

"He did. He got one at the age of sixteen but he never renewed it."

Calleigh opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"I'll keep looking."

"See what address you get from the original drivers' license."

"I'm already on it."

Calleigh grinned. "Thanks Vince. Let's hope the high school will be able to tell us something."

Walking from the AV lab to her area, Calleigh noticed Horatio and Yelina in quiet conversation in the central area. Something in their body language said neither one was enjoying the talk.

"Are you sure you want to come to my place?"

"I have a feeling it would be best, Horatio. It will be easier to be candid in private, wouldn't you say?"

"And since you haven't spent much time at my place, it would be considered more neutral territory than your place?"

Yelina smiled playfully. "Are you having reservations about talking?"

Horatio's smile was not quite a grin or a grimace. He glanced up through the thick brows over his eyes and huffed through his nose. "I'll be there by seven."

As soon as Horatio said the words, the playful look left Yelina's face. Seeing Walter approach, she took the opportunity to walk off.

"Horatio, if the McRea's were home, they weren't answering their door. They actually live in a real house. It looks like a rental; not much of a yard, pretty dreary all around. A nice shiny travel trailer in the drive though."

Shifting gears with the ease of years of practice, Horatio stared off to one side considering Walter's words. "Have Frank set up a stake out and call you when they return. Meanwhile, keep digging into any complaints registered about construction gone wrong. You might question Mr. Hennessy about that before you have to cut him loose."

"I'll get on him right now. He may not like me but I'll see to it he answers."

"I'll go in with you. He was at the park when I got hit so I also want some answers."

Walter almost objected. He knew Hennessy's problem with him was that he was black and he wasn't going to let prejudice get in his way. Part of his police training was getting around such narrow points of view and he wanted to exercise some of that knowledge. However, Horatio had a point. He'd been attacked for some reason.

As if reading Walter's mind, Horatio continued, "I'm going to play backup. Seeing that all you want is information and that maybe I want something worse, he'll be more co-operative."

There is nothing worse for a cop than getting nothing out of an interview. At least in an interrogation they are working on some kind of information or evidence. In an interview, they are fishing.

Hennessy was obvious in his lack of willingness to impart information. "Yeah, some of the people I travel with are in some kind of construction business. Don't know what kind though. You'd have to ask them."

As far as the attack on Horatio, he stuck with his story of before; he was too busy being sure he pulled onto the road safely, was too involved with driving the large vehicle, never thought to look across the road. He referred to McCauber, the other one who had gotten a ticket, if they wanted more information. No, he had no idea where he might be now.

Conferring behind the two way mirror as they stared at the man sitting casually slumped in his chair, Walter confessed to his frustration.

"I am too Walter. We're going to have to hope the McReas can give us more information. It could also be there's another path we haven't even come on yet."

Walter's hand dove into his pocket where he'd set his phone to vibrate. Hanging up he said, "Speak of the devil. The McReas are home."

Eric's voice interrupted Horatio's summary thoughts of the previous hour. "H, Thibodeaux' prints are not a match for the one's in that bit of C-4."

"Thank you Eric. Keep running the prints from the RVs please." Another dead end, another challenge. Well, that's the way it went. According to Yelina's report on what she and Ryan had dug up, the only two people they could find who may have had a motive against Dowd was the young man who was self-incarcerated in the hospital and that young woman.

Yelina had said, "Neither Ryan or I are sure about Marky. He could have walked away at any time but is he structured enough to create the bomb and leave very little trace? Delilah is a more likely suspect in that she was with an Air Force Ordinance team. She would have known how to fashion that kind of bomb and would have been able to get into the shops and out."

"Any connection to Crowley?"

"No, but then, so far, neither does Marky. Deshawn Wilson is also in the picture. He doesn't have the background however and doesn't have any connection to Crowley."

"I'm guessing we're barking up the wrong tree on all of them, then. Until we find a connection between Dowd and Crowley, we have nothing in common to anchor them."

Answering his chiming phone, Horatio heard, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news but we've got another guy with the top of his head missing."

"Where Frank?"

"This time it's at a gym. Horatio, we've got a serial killer on our hands."

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"Yelina, you and Ryan will be working late this evening. Shall we make our appointment at my place for eight?"

Horatio noticed the slightest frown cross Yelina's brow. He wondered if she thought he was purposely putting off the conversation they both knew was coming. Was he? He didn't think so. She and Ryan were working that case and another body with the same M.O. had been found. It was the nature of their lives and couldn't be helped.

Yelina listened to the information about the location, spun around without a reply and headed into the elevator.

Ten steps took him from in front of the elevator to where Calleigh was sitting.

Phone to her ear, he heard her saying, "I really appreciate the information, Dr. Skiller. Thank you."

"Good news, I hope?"

"Well, in a way. I got hold of our victim's high school. It seems that our garden guy, Norbert Ditka, had quite an unhappy childhood. His mother died when he was four and his father was an alcoholic but not so bad they could take custody of his boy from him. As you might guess, Norbert suffered from depression and regularly saw the school psychologist. I was just talking with him. He's now a psychiatrist in Minneapolis but he remembered Norbert very well. Mr. Ditka apparently put the boy through emotional hell accusing him of causing his mother's death, of driving him to drink, of costing him money, and so on. The doctor was fairly certain Norbert was physically abused but since he never said anything, he couldn't do anything.

"This probably explains the next thing that happens. Norbert's father died a year after he graduated high school. All he got was the house which was pretty much a falling down shack. He lived there, working as a clerk at a market and getting by until he got his AA degree. Then he sold the house pretty much for the value of the property alone and after that, disappeared off the grid. He never paid taxes on the sale of the property either."

"What did he get the degree in?"

"Psychology."

"People usually take that subject in a quest to find answers about themselves. I'm betting he never did."

Calleigh's bright features dimmed slightly in consideration of that remark. "I guess not."

"Excuse me, Calleigh." Horatio stepped into the corbelled hallway to answer his phone.

"Yes, Walter?"

"I was at the McReas and I got a runner." The breathless voice sounded excited.

"Did you get him?"

"Yeah, but only after he led me on a merry chase. I had to bust through a couple of fences. Once I get this guy into the car, I'll leave notes."

"What kind of fences? Are you alright?"

"Ah-h-h, just old rickety wooden fences so no problem."

"Who is he in relation to the McReas?"

"I'll find that out when I bring him in."

"Get him processed in and then call me. I'll be out in the field."

xxxx

Horatio stared down into the dead man's deep brown eyes noting the wide open surprised look. What had this man done to earn such wrath? Probably nothing in particular. Serial killers are usually sociopaths and don't need to be angered by any particular acts of their victims.

Rising from his position on one knee, Horatio took in the whole body. The man was maybe in his sixties and extremely fit. Though slack now, it was obvious his muscles could have been pumped up to respectable size at the time of death. Indeed, he had been in the act of doing presses just before the top of his head was blown into the wall. The weight bar with what looked to be nearly two hundred pounds was now lying partly on his chest and partly on the floor where it had fallen.

From what he could see among the red bits, on the wall a few feet away, the man had been wearing a blond wig. This was odd since he sported brown eyebrows and a brown handlebar mustache. Aside from that, the rest of the evidence he could immediately see was consistent with what he'd seen at the magic shop.

The gym itself was one of those located in what had been a small warehouse. With very little refurbishment, these buildings were excellent places to hold the myriad of equipment that bodybuilders demanded. The large overhead area gave the feeling of space, swallowed up the rising odors of sweat and ate the many sounds uttered in the effort to lift weights for the umpteenth time. It was also a building, like the other sites, that had no security cameras. After all, who wants to attack men who could bend an enemy like a jointed toy?

Walking out the front door guarded by officers now, he donned his dark glasses in the bright sunlight. The building was surrounded by a featureless parking lot surrounded on four sides by open roadways. Ryan had told him that, not too far away, was the Wigs and More shop. That probably wasn't a coincidence. On the other hand, since this was an area behind the Miami Airport, not great for anything but industry, it might not have meant too much.

Returning inside, he passed Ryan carefully retrieving what he could from the wall and went on to find Yelina who had been interviewing the gym manager on duty that afternoon.

"I don't think his name was really Stromboli any more than I think he was Italian. He was a good Joe though."

Without taking notice of Horatio, Yelina continued her line of questioning. "Did he come in often?"

He always came in about the same time, three days a week. I don't know why but he always came in the same getup; that tank top body suit, his handlebars all waxed, smelling to holy hell of cheap cologne and that ridiculous wig. You'd think he was on the prowl for hookers at a bar."

"I see he was on a bench. Did he use the equipment much?"

"That was the odd thing; he'd come in and really work out. He'd do squats, presses, rows, lunges, all that. I think that's why he liked coming in here in the afternoons. The equipment was open for the most part and he could move from one to the other without cooling down."

"What do you know about him other than that?"

"About half the time, after he finished his routine, he'd stop at the juice bar and get a protein drink. That's when he'd jaw at anyone who would give him the time of day. I only heard a word or two. You'd have to talk to Rick over at the bar to find out more."

Twenty minutes later, Horatio was listening to Yelina's recount of what Rick, at the juice bar, had told her. "He insisted he had been a strong man at carnivals for over forty years."

Horatio turned to look at the body that was being hefted into a body bag under Tom Loman's watchful eye. "Considering the shape he was in, I'd say that could have been true."

"The only other thing Rick could say was that he thought Stromboli lived alone."

"Do we know where?"

Yelina looked over at the curtained doorway. The top of the curved entrance held a sign reading showers.

Five minutes later, after retrieving the master keys from the manager, Yelina was opening the fourth of the lockers in use in the men's shower area. The other three held contents showing IDs not matching Stromboli's appearance or age. The fourth was the jackpot.

"Ivan Yasenkov lives six blocks from here. He only has a Florida ID, no driver's license."

Horatio rubbed his forehead as if trying to pull out some theories. "You know, the word carnival keeps popping up in this case. Find out if Crowley was with any carnival. Also go to Yasenkov's address and find out if anyone answers. If not, go in and take a quick look around."

Yelina added, "I'm betting no one will be there. The other two men were loners and so is that wig guy, Hermes. It could be the results of carny life.

Ryan jingled the key ring. "I'll use the keys we have here. If there aren't any pets or kids or whatever…"

"We'll resume tomorrow." Horatio looked at Yelina to signal he was ready for their evening meeting. He received the slightest of nods in return.

xxxx

"He lived in a fifteen foot trailer home. I saw a truck with a hitch but the trailer didn't look like it had been moved in years."

"Anyone there?"

"Not even a goldfish. I did see a photo of him and a middle aged woman. It didn't look very old either. Maybe it was a girlfriend."

"Perhaps when you return for a more thorough search tomorrow, you'll get some information on her."

Yelina and Horatio were sitting on his condo balcony, enjoying the ocean breeze, and watching the play of distant lightning among the dark clouds in the south. Their dinners, salads in plastic trays, were on the oblong glass topped table between them. Ending their exchange of the day's information, they ate slower and slower.

Finally Yelina took the lead, put her plastic fork down and rose. She strolled over to the lounge chair, sat and stretched out. With a look of meaningful determination, she looked at the other lounge and then at Horatio.

He tried to smile willingly but knew he was not convincing her. Still, he did as he had been silently bidden. Taking a place on the couch and throwing his legs out then raising one knee, he said, "So, do you want me to return?"

Of all the unpredictable things Yelina expected from Horatio, this directness threw her for a loop. She paused, thought and then decided to play his game. "I don't think that is the question, Horatio. We both want to be together, except we both seem to have our own ideas of what to expect from the other."

Caught off guard, the long legged redhead considered the accuracy of the statement. Did he expect from her what she didn't have to give? Professionally, no, but personally, after all these years? Or was it that he expected her not to be what she naturally was? His thoughts went back to his considerations the other day.

Not realizing he had not spoken, he laid his head over to his shoulder to look at her. He asked, "And do you have expectations?"

She met his serious eyes with smiling ones. "After what happened, I'd say so. I'm a nurturer, Horatio. If Ray had been home more, you'd have had more nieces and nephews and I'd have loved it. You are like your brother in many ways. I know you don't care for the comparison." She twisted to look at him more comfortably. "Unlike Ray, you can give, support, care for, all of that and more. Like him, taking is hard for you. I need to give to the people in my life. I don't think you can just take."

One of the things Horatio wasn't great at was being challenged by a woman he liked when he was unprepared. There were so many things he could have said at this point. The problem was, talking about feelings with a woman was like walking through a boggy alligator infested swamp. As long as the man talked about his own feelings, all was well and good. As soon as he tried to interpret his gut reaction to what she was showing, he'd be dying of hemorrhage in less than no time.

Besides, she wasn't asking to be fixed or to be interpreted. 'Listen to her. She said taking was harder than giving for me.' He thought of how it had felt to get a massage when he'd been in so much pain. He remembered Solange walking him into the hot tub, rubbing his shoulders, bringing him tea. Was that so different from Yelina wanting to help him from the car to the door? Why couldn't he tell her of the pain in his head from the concussion?

"Horatio?"

Pretending to look out at the occasional flashes in the now black sky, Horatio apologized. "I know I didn't start this conversation out quite right. I think I should have said, 'I have doubts about us continuing on as a couple'".

Although more than a minute passed, Yelina's answer still came more quickly than he thought it would. Her voice was soft and once again carried that hollowness tinged with melancholy. "We had to try, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did. We always seemed to have some unfinished business between us."

"I think we've concluded business. We found out that the Salas-Caine combo is like..," she paused. "Have you ever tried strawberries and green peppers?"

Horatio shook his head.

Yelina vibrated in distaste at the memory. "It's nutritious and looks great in the bowl, but really tastes awful. That's the Horatio-Yelina dish. It should work but it doesn't. We had to try it."

"I'm sorry."

"Horatio, there is nothing to be sorry about. We both thought it was a good idea. You didn't do anything wrong and I'm sure I didn't either. You know I still love you."

"You just don't want to live with me."

Yelina smiled ruefully. "Don't put it all on me."

"Me? Would I do that?"

Moments of sweet silence went by.

Are we good?" He cast his blue eyes to her elegant profile.

"Except for one thing."

"Which is?"

"As my dead husband's brother, you have an obligation to find a man for me."

Horatio bestowed a full smile on Yelina. "I'll see what I can do."

"Tall, handsome, well to do."

"Now you're getting picky."

As they quietly talked in the darkness, their hands sought and found each other. There was no denial of the new turn in the relationship, just an acceptance from years of understanding that they had found another way to be together.

xxxx

At the same moment, if the wives tale about talking about a person would cause their ears to burn, then Horatio's ears should have been bright red. Across town in a small bistro two women sat picking at a their dinner salads.

"Good luck on getting his attention."

"Just as well. I can't have personal relations with a client. Massage has a bad enough reputation without crossing that line. Nor, with this economy, can I afford to drop a client."

"Anyway, he's involved with a police detective right now."

Solange sighed. "It's always that way; they're a client or their involved or both. So, C-O-S, what are you working on at the lab?"

"Me? Oh, nothing much but Calleigh has an interesting one. Some guy was found dead in a public garden and, get this, there's been no record of him for over twenty-five years. He hasn't paid taxes, no driver's license, zilch."

"How was he killed?"

"Belladona mixed in with a salad."

"Ew! Nasty way to go."

Their main course was brought to them. Natalia had ordered mahi mahi and Solange the calamari. The server, and apparently also the chef of the ultra-small eatery, said the requisite, "Bon appetite," and left them. Both of their heads turned to his attractive derrière tightly encased in his pants.

Solange turned raised her eyebrows in question.

Natalia rolled her eyes and nodded.

Sighing in resignation at the third strike she continued, "And you found him in a public garden?"

"Yeah, one of those community places where people grow vegetables. There is a central flower plot and he was laid out," she looked around and leaned forward to whisper, "naked."

Solange giggled. "How do you do forensics on that?"

"Ah! That is going to be my contribution. I'm going to analyze the salad ingredients, mostly the vinaigrette. It could be the salad came from a restaurant. Most places have their own recipes for dressings."

"So you think someone brought this guy a salad, added in bella donna and covered it in dressing and gave it to him?"

Natalia shrugged. "It's a shot in the dark. If that doesn't work, we go from house to house in a hundred mile square area and look for bella donna in the back yard and do a DNA on the plant." Natalia leaned forward. "How's the calamari?"

"Wonderful! Tender as tio Zapa used to make it. I wonder if this guy used the edge of a plate like he did? Do you remember how he used to sit and bang forever on a calamari steak?"

"I always wondered how he knew it was tender enough. The mahi is good too. I'll trade you bites."

Both enjoyed the tastes.

"I'm going to tell the guys at the lab about this place," Natalia beamed and leaned back dropping her napkin on the table beside her plate.

"With my compliments ladies." The server cum chef laid a parfait in a champagne flute in the center of the table.

"Wow! To what honor do we owe this to?"

The attractive man smiled sweetly. "My dears, I'm gay but I'm not dead, for heaven's sake. You are the most beautiful people to come in here since I opened. And besides, a police hero and a body worker? Well, puleeze, this is little enough I can do."

Thanking him the two looked at each other in amazement. Then, watching him return to the kitchen, they saw how close they were and realized he had perhaps overheard some of what they had said.

Though they had both declared themselves to be full, they took up their spoons, just to taste. Both nearly swooned at the creamy richness of dark and light chocolate perfectly blended with creamy coffee caramel. They quickly found themselves acting like they had as children, battling with their spoons to get the last bit from the bottom of the glass.

"Oh, I'm definitely telling the gang about this place."

As they paid their bill to the very young man at the cash register, Solange noticed the large jar on the counter. She read the sign taped to it out loud. "'Add your business card for free lunch drawing held every week. Winner's cards are displayed on bulletin board for a month.' Okay, I will." She pulled out her holder and put one of her business cards into the jar.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"Why did you run?"

"I didn't know who you were!"

Walter had asked the question five times now and each time Terry McRea had given him a different answer. First he'd said he thought some guys he owed money to were after him. Then, wakened from a bad dream he didn't know what was going on and so he ran thinking the devils from his dream were after him. The third answer was that he wasn't running, he just happened to be going off to visit a friend and didn't even know Walter was following him. His fourth answer was an incomprehensible mumble.

Finally came an answer Walter knew how to combat. "I announced myself five times. There is no way in hell you didn't know who I was."

"What did you want with me anyway?"

Walter's voice headed for the ceiling both in tone and volume. "Man! Then, all I wanted was to ask you some questions. Now I have to book you for evading police. Then, on the grounds that you ran, I'll get a warrant to go into your folks' place and search it for whatever you thought you could hide. Where are your folks anyway?"

"Uh, they went on a trip. They're RV'n up in Georgia or someplace."

"When did they decide to go, five minutes after I knocked on the door the first time? Well, you get one phone call so you either call and tell them to get you a lawyer or you call a lawyer yourself unless you want a public defender."

Leaving the sullen young man to dwell on his decision, Walter went out to find Horatio. He had to wait on Ryan to finish reporting his findings.

"—wasn't much in the muscle man's trailer. We did find a piece of mail from his daughter. She lives in Tallahassee. We're going to contact her today. Yelina guesses that's what the picture was. So far, the wig is showing the same things as the others though how Ivan missed seeing the black powder in the blond hair is anyone's guess. We found a bill for cleaning from another toupee place. We'll go check that out."

Horatio shifted his weight as he considered the connections his team was finding. "Tell you what; check their part time employee record for this other toupee place. See if Hermes works there too."

Ryan nodded. "Oh, by the way, we're going to be getting some stuff from the forestry service. Remember that fire out in the everglades the other day? It was no accident. They found the origin; a camp fire and some beer bottles."

"You told them that the heat could have solidified the fingerprints onto the glass?"

"I'll happily put in some overtime if it can catch the rats that could have put my uncle's life in danger."

"I think the National Ranger Service will appreciate the effort as well. Let Eric help you get the prints."

When Ryan wheeled on his heels and strode off, without so much as a pause, Horatio turned to the man nearly six inches taller than he was. "Yes, Walter? What did you get from your runner?"

"Just gobbledy-gook. Except for the running, I wouldn't have any reason to keep him."

Again, Horatio shifted weight from one foot to the other. "Just out of curiosity, ask him where he was the other night, who he was with. If he was with anyone, get names. Then turn him loose."

"Even though he ran?"

"Like you said, except for the running, we have no reason to keep him for now. However, make it sound like a few names will get him out of here."

"Well, I sure want something for the restitution I'm going to have to make on those fences to say nothing of the damage I did to my clothes."

Horatio smiled down at his shoes as he straightened his back and placed his hands on his hips. He had long lost count of the number of pants, shirts and jackets he'd had to replace over the years. "It's the price of the job, Walter, the price of the job."

Terry McRea jumped when Walter burst back into the room.

"Alright, where were you night before last?" Walter didn't have to use any effort to smack his hands onto the table. The loud sound was just part of his way of moving. He had long ago learned to make a mean face contrary to his gentle nature to intimidate kids who teased him.

Once over his initial disconcert, Terry seemed to feel he was on familiar grounds and readily gave an answer. "I was out with friends. Well, a cousin and a couple of his friends."

"Names?"

My cousin Billy McCauber and his friends."

After a silent pause, Walter stamped his foot in frustration. "Look, in a minute, I'm going to go get some tongs and reach into you and pull the information out. I want the rest of the names!"

Looking defiantly up into the dark, round face for a few seconds, Terry seemed to be judging whether the threat was real.

"You want out of here? You give me those names and I'll turn you loose. Is that a deal?"

The response came quickly. "One was called Gator. I don't know his real name. The other one, I don't know his name."

"Where did you go?"

"We was out in the 'glades drinkin'. I got bagged so bad I must'a gone to sleep. I woke up in the van and Billy was drivin' like getting' out'a hell and they was all laughin' like they'd just pulled the best joke ever. Wouldn't tell me what it was about. They dropped me off home, practically pushed me out, and I ain't seen 'em since."

"Okay, thanks." Walter sighed heavily like he'd just been given a burden. "I made a deal so I'm letting you go. Just to let you know, though, I'm going to keep an eye out and if you so much as spit on the sidewalk, I'll be all over you like sauce on beans and rice."

Walter opened the door and asked the uniformed officer to escort Terry out of the building.

"So, Walter, what did he tell you?"

"I know what fingerprints to look for on the glass the rangers are going to send over."

"Give it to Eric. Ryan just went out."

xxxx

Sitting in the car with Yelina, Ryan couldn't help but comment. "Wow! Why would a manly guy like Stromboli go to a place only one block from Brickell?"

Yelina shrugged ever so slightly in appraisal of the toupee shop they had found. "I've heard that Carny people hold no prejudices. I mean, think about the variety of people that life attracts. I especially doubt that what two people do behind closed doors is going to affect anyone in that life. Maybe thought this was the best place for the price."

Ryan only had to think about two seconds to realize he'd been the judgmental one. "Okay, let's go see what they have to tell us."

The shop owner, Will Fremont, was one of those theatrical people who, when he heard of Stromboli's demise first fell fainting onto the pink tufted couch in his office. Two seconds later he woke to weep copiously into a silk handkerchief (oddly with no tears visible) and rambled on for some moments about what a wonderful and sweet man Stromboli was.

An exchange of looks between Ryan and Yelina decided that Ryan would be a good candidate to get the information they wanted.

He sat beside the slumped Will and tentatively patted the top of his arm, near the shoulder. "This is really an awful shock, I know. We'll leave you to grieve in a bit. To get the person that did this, though, we need to act quickly. You understand, don't you?" He bent down to peer up into Will's scrunched face. He could swear the man was trying to force tears from his eyes.

Brokenly the voice stuttered, "I—I do understand. I'll try to pull myself together. I'm sorry."

Trying a trick he'd often seen Horatio use, Ryan bent forward and looked up into the man's face. "No need to be sorry. This is hard for you. Just let me ask you this; what is the process of getting a wig cleaned?"

Dabbing at nonexistent discharge from his nose, Will gave a ragged sigh. "Well, more or less, it's much like washing your own hair. We mix shampoo and water, put the toupee into the solution, swish, pour the solution through the underside of the cap a few times, swish some more and then gently rinse and very gently towel dry. Then we put the wig on a wire form head and restyle."

"Why do people have it done professionally?"

Will almost cracked a smile until he realized he was suffering the great loss of a client. "Why do people have their dogs groomed, their cars washed, go to hair salons? Actually, many wigs need refurbishment, more hair added and the like. Some people are rather casual with their hair pieces."

"May we see where Stromboli's toupee was cleaned and kept until he picked it up?"

The toupee assembly area here wasn't quite as industrial looking as Barton's had been and certainly cleaner than the Costumes and More store. The four tables occupied by two workers now were covered in porcelain rather than wood. The hair bins must have been someplace else, not being visible from where they stood. They could also see into a small room by a large window where someone in the process of toweling off what looked at first to be a small piece of road kill.

"That is Mrs. Hubel's wig. The poor dear is in her eighties and nearly bald as an egg. She sends it to us by her driver every six months or so."

"Once you have finished with it, where will it be kept until she sends for it?"

Will pointed by showing the palm of his hand to the ceiling and uncurling his fingers in the general direction of a shelf that held a few wire head forms. "There."

Ryan and Yelina looked at each other noting the pattern. In this case, the place was cleaned every three days meaning it had not been cleaned since the toupee in question had been picked up. Ryan's quick brooming of the tables and floor revealed small pieces of ultra-fine wire as well as traces of black powder. One table also showed a streak of black powder on one edge.

"Did you have a break-in in the last couple of days?"

"What? No!"

"Do you mind if we look at the door in the back there and the window?"

The tampering at the rear door to the shop was obvious to the trained eye. There was no deadbolt and the scratches at the strike plate were still shiny.

Showing this to Mr. Fremont, he nearly fell to the floor again in a heartfelt self-recrimination. "Who would have done such an awful thing?"

Going on before the man fell apart entirely Ryan asked, "One thing more. We would like a list of your employees, full and part time."

"Surely, you don't think anyone here would do such a thing to Stromboli?"

"Right now, we're just gathering information Mr. Fremont."

Outside in the Humvee, Ryan read over Yelina's shoulder and then said, "Sure enough, there he is, Hermes Thibodeaux. That little guy sure gets around."

Yelina pulled out her cell. "I'll call Horatio and tell him we're bringing Mr. Thibodeaux in for an interview."

Folding her phone less than three minutes later she turned to Ryan to say, "Let's head for the lab."

"Why not go get Thibodeaux?"

"He's already at the lab. Apparently he heard about Stromboli and is now ranting and raving about saving us the trouble of arresting him."

xxxx

Half an hour later, Hermes was still showing some anger.

Horatio met Ryan and Yelina a corridor away from the interview room where the short statured man couldn't see them. "He is still declaring his innocence. He says he just wanted to beat us to the punch and now dares us to find anything that makes him guilty."

"Like working at all three places that made the wigs that blew the tops of men's heads off isn't at least a reason to be suspicious?"

"While you were on your way in, I called Dickensian Barton to ask about Mr. Thibodeaux' rather wide employment status. According to him, it's because he's the only man in town with the knowledge it takes to make a perfectly fitted toupee cap. He's betting the two other toupee stores in the Miami area also make use of his talents."

"He's got a rare knowledge. If it was known he was accused of blowing heads off folks' shoulders, he would have to pick up stakes and move on. Maybe that's where the anger is coming from."

"Good thought Ryan." Horatio's hand strayed unconsciously under his jacket to his back. "You know, Thibodeaux has, so far, reacted negatively to men in general. Ryan, would you mind if I put Yelina in the lead on questioning him?"

Yelina quickly said, "Using your theory on where his anger is coming from."

Ryan quickly agreed. He couldn't care less about who did what as long as it got the job done.

Horatio's instincts proved right. As soon as Yelina started talking when she and Ryan entered the glass walled room, Hermes' face relaxed.

"Mr. Thibodeaux, we're so glad you came in. You are the one link to all three of the unfortunate killings and we thought perhaps you'd have information that would bring us to the one responsible."

Hermes sat back in the chair, a dumbfounded look on his face. "You mean you don't think I did it?"

Yelina batted her eyelashes and formed her lips into an appealing half open smile. "Why would we think that? We know you are connected to all of these toupees because everyone hires you. You're the best cap fitter in town."

"Lady, I'm probably the best anywhere. I prefer being the best in Miami and I'd like to keep it that way."

Yelina pretended to be searching around for her next question when in actuality she and Ryan were exchanging another look. Ryan had hit the nail on the head. She had to admire that the stony look on his face, as he leaned against one of the window edges, didn't change by a muscle.

"Now, think, please, is there anything in those three shops that could possibly connect someone to those toupees?"

"Crowley's was a wig, not a toupee," he corrected. "As for a connection…hmmm. All three places get broken into?"

At their nod he thought some more. "Nope, I got nothin'. If anyone has anything against any one much less all three of these places, I haven't heard. As for the guys who bought it, I only knew, what's his name, Dowd. I mean, I knew of Crowley, he did magic after he was forced out of the knife throwing. He didn't wear a cover when he was with the sideshow. And then there weren't that many strong men. Some were the real deal, some not, but they all called themselves Stromboli back in the day. Now he wore wigs even back then. They all had blond curly hair and dark handlebar mustaches too. I guess it wasn't enough to have muscles." He ended with a tight lipped stare into space.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Ryan pushed himself erect. "Crowley gave up a knife act you say? Do you know who to?"

"No, I told you I only knew about him. I don't even know that's true anyway. In the carny life you hear about stuff, that's all."

Outside of the room Ryan graciously accepted Yelina's praise of his instincts. Then he went on to say, "For a guy who had nothing in information, I'd say we got a boatload."

"Back to Ms. Blaire, right?"

Ryan checked his watch. "Let's hope she isn't annoyed to be caught at dinner time."

xxxx

Trixie Blare didn't look much different from when they had seen her the day before. The color of the grease stained house dress was different and the band holding her hair back off her face was a different color but that was all. Even though she was holding a plastic dinner tray, she was obviously delighted to have company. "Come in, please."

Returning from the kitchen, she threw herself into the recliner with the same gusto as before.

"We're just curious about something you said yesterday. Your ex-husband had done a knife throwing act, is that right?"

"Yeah. That's how he and I got together. We met at a bar. He needed a girl to throw knives at and he thought I'd be good. I mean, most of it was a fake, y'know. When he was starting out the act, he'd pop balloons. I'd stand and wave my arms like I was showing people stuff. When I was the target, it was a thing where the knives really just popped out from slits in back of the board. He was pretty good but he said he would die of shame if he even nicked me. Y'know? Still, it was a really good act."

"Would you happen to know if he replaced anyone as a knife thrower?"

"Yeah, sure. A guy named Crowley was the knife thrower at the last carny we went to. He had to go back to doing a magic act. He always said he hated that gig. But, hey, what can you do, right? The carny boss looks out for the carny. And it wasn't like Crowley didn't know his stuff."

Yelina pretended to look at the notes she'd taken while Trixie talked. "When did Crowley tell you he hated doing magic?"

Trixie blushed and pulled at a long blond strand of hair. "Uh, we talked sometimes. Carny people are all close."

"Did you know he had a shop here in Miami?"

"Yeah, sure. He used to come over here back in the day. You know, when I still had some looks and all." She leaned her head back and gazed upwards, smiling gently.

A ringing sound came from the kitchen.

"A couple of more questions and we'll let you get to your dinner, ma'am. Have you ever heard of the strong man, Stromboli?"

"Which one? They was all Stromboli, the strong man."

"Ivan?"

Trixie's head popped up in surprise. "Boy! You know them all, don't you? Old Ivan? What a man he was! Whew! How I loved to run my hands over those muscles of his."

"Could you guess that anyone would be jealous of any of these people?"

Trixie asked why and showed shock to hear of their deaths. "Oh, what a shame. That's awful! One person going after all them? You sure it's only one?"

They left letting her think that perhaps she was right. After all, same M.O. or not, they had no one to pin this on, yet.

Climbing into the car and closing the door, Ryan growled, "You gotta know I'm hungry when I think even a TV dinner smells good."

Yelina giggled, "I was thinking the same thing."

"Want to join me for some down home ribs and beer after we check out?"

Much to their relief, Eric and the rest of the team was gone for the day and Horatio was in his office doing paperwork. They quickly lockered their service weapons, did some paperwork of their own, pocketed their shields and walked out of the lab.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The next morning, Yelina opened her eyes. She was lying in bed on her side, facing the French doors that were open to her garden in the back of her house. Usually she closed them before going to bed and couldn't for the life of her think how she'd forgotten. While she was thinking on it, a hummingbird buzzed in through the doors. The tiny ruby throated bundle of humming wings hung motionless in the air turning his head from one side to the other. He buzzed a few inches forward and back and then from side to side. It was as if he was giving the place a once over, considering whether it was worth buying and moving in. Suddenly, he spotted the slowly turning ceiling fan. Apparently this was a deal breaker and, deciding against the whole idea, he jetted out into the brightening day.

"That was amazing."

Yelina turned, not surprised and yet somewhat startled.

"I hope you don't mind."

"Mind what?"

"That I stayed the night."

As always, Yelina considered before answering. "No. I did ask, didn't I?"

"Yes, but in the throes of passion, people don't always mean what they say."

"I did mean it last night and I am not sorry today. How about you? Any regrets?"

"I'd like to show you just how few regrets I've got." Ryan inched a bit closer to Yelina and lowered his mouth onto hers.

Before she knew it, she was pulling his whole body into hers. Last night, driven by a quantity of several beers over several hours, the passion hadn't been quite drunk yet it was most definitely not sober. Then she didn't know or care why this was happening; she was just glad it was. This morning, their passion was morning light sober if somewhat more driven by Ryan's physical need. She had a healthy need going for herself as well.

Unfortunately weekday morning sex has to be on the practical side. Both kept their eyes on the passing seconds, drove themselves to their personal goals and then lay back gasping and grinning like kids.

Later, refusing breakfast, Ryan took off for his apartment which, thankfully was on the way to the lab. He didn't think he had ever showered and dressed for the day so quickly. On the way to the lab he slid by a coffee shop drive thru and picked up an egg sandwich. In spite of the rush, he hadn't felt so good in years. She'd sent him on his way with a thoughtful kiss. Something told him that they were going to at least talk about what had happened.

Yelina's thoughts were on that same line with an additional sidebar besides; there was no doubt in her mind that she and Horatio were over. In truth, were they ever meant to be? Was it just as well? From the way she had so quickly accepted Ryan's advances, she thought perhaps so.

xxxx

"Eric, did the glass from the glades come in?"

"Yeah and there's some good prints too. It looks like two different sets but I thought I'd let you do the honors."

"Gee, thanks buddy."

"Hey, I'd help but I'm hip deep in prints from those RVs."

"I won't be able to get to the glass for a while anyway. We're still trying to figure out who's blowing people's heads off."

"So you don't make the little guy for it?"

"Something just says no on him. He's got a temper but nothing against any of the dead ones we can see. He works at all of the toupee shops but again, no reason to do the deed. He said yesterday he likes it in Miami and wants to stay."

"I guess since you know who he is, he'd be gone if he did it."

"Or at least hard to find."

Ryan pulled his phone out noting a text message. "Gotta go. Yelina is ready. We're going to go check out the other two wig, uh, toupee shops in town."

"Good luck on that."

Ryan briefly stopped in the central hallway to tell Horatio where he was going. "I think we'll also check with Thibodeaux again. I forgot to ask him if he knows of any other carny customers that go to the toupee shops."

"Be careful with that. You know if you irritate him he'll clam up."

"Yelina will do the talking. She can charm a snake into dancing."

Horatio watched Ryan turn on his heel and walk down the hallway. Something about the way he said those last words caught his attention. Yes, Yelina knew how to handle almost anyone, no doubt about that. There was just something about Ryan's tone of voice that said a little more. Horatio wondered what it was.

His thoughts were cut off when Dr. Tom Loman approached him calling his name. "Horatio, I have already talked to Calleigh about this but I think I have an idea. Our garden guy shows signs of having been severely beaten over a long period of time. Some of the scars and bone breaks were from his childhood and beyond. The most recent, however were only within the last few months." His pale cornflower blue eyes looked into Horatio's deeper, sky blue eyes for assurance that he was being understood.

"He had literally been abused all of his life. That is unusual for a man, isn't it?"

"Not exactly. Men will often choose to physically abuse the sons. On the part of the victim, it becomes a matter of habit, seeking the familiar even if it's painful." Tom nodded at his own words enthusiastically. "Anyway, the recent abuse would definitely have required medical attention. So, I started sending out e-mails to all of the ERs and even the clinics in the confines of Miami. I keep a list on my computer. I asked if a man matching our victim's general appearance had come in or been brought in and I listed the injuries in order of occurrence."

"And I'm guessing you got a response."

"Oh, Horatio, I got ten." Tom had a seriously sad look. "Here, I put their locations on the map on my phone here. See, they all are centered around this general area. Now, the garden is out over here."

"Yes, to put the body outside of the home area could fit. Another thought is that the garden had special meaning to the killer."

"I don't think this grouping of hospitals is an accident."

"Neither do I. This man was living somewhere in the area of this neighborhood. Thank you Tom."

"I'll download the list of the places to your phone."

"Wait just one moment, please." Horatio pulled out his phone and made a call. "Frank, I'll meet you downstairs. We have a lead on the garden victim." Closing the connection, he nodded to Tom who sent the information.

Caught in long legged stride to the elevator, he heard Natalia call out.

"Horatio. I got the formula."

"What formula is that Natalia?"

"Well, actually, the recipe. The one for the raspberry vinaigrette used on that salad. Would you believe it has a touch of pomegranate liqueur in it?"

"Thank you Natalia. Tom just gave me some information so it looks like we're much closer to finding this man's killer."

"Good luck." She meant this wholeheartedly too. The very idea that this man had innocently eaten a salad that had killed him was appalling to her.

xxxx

"You again? Look, I did my bit. Now go away and don't come back."

Thibodeaux almost managed to close the door. Whether it was Yelina's hand in the way, putting her in danger of getting it smashed or perhaps the charming smile she was giving the man in spite of the danger is unknown. The door stopped just a quarter of an inch from her skin.

"Ah, hell, what's on your mind?" He opened the door but gave no indication of an invitation to enter.

"One question and we'll be on our way; truly we will. Do you know of any other people in this area who have ever been associated with the carnival business that wear toupees or wigs?"

Hermes sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, searching his memories. Then he snapped his fingers. "Yeah, John! John Keenly." He spelled out the name. He did P.R. for the show, made sure announcements of the arrival was in the local papers, found events for us to hook in to, that sort of thing. He lives over by Little Cuba. I don't know the address."

"Did you make a toupee for him recently?"

"About two years ago maybe."

They got the name of the shop he'd worked at and took off.

As promised, the shop was located near the Little Cuba community. They got Keenly's address from the manager and drove to the home on a quiet street.

Introducing themselves, both of the detectives found themselves at a loss for words. How do you say, 'hey, we think your rug might blow your head off?' They first established that he did indeed wear a toupee. It was a well designed piece and no one would have known.

"Have you had the piece professionally cleaned recently?"

Mr. Keenly was a dark haired, blue eyed man with a strong nose and a ready smile. Although he enthusiastically answered the questions, it was easy to see that he wondered what they wanted with such private information. "Well, uh, no, I take care of the piece myself. I'm of modest means, you know."

"Have you had any reason to take it to any of the toupee shops in town in the last, oh, say, six months?"

"What's this all about?"

Since they would have to take a look at the hairpiece eventually, they knew they had to say something.

"Oh my god!" Mr. Keenly went pale under his Florida tan. "I knew all of those men too."

"Did you have any recent contact?"

"No, no reason to. I just remember them from my years with the carnivals. Oh, I mean, I saw Flower Pott on his show when I used to vacation down here but personally? No.

Again somewhat chagrined when asked to be relieved of his hair, he went into the bedroom as if asked to remove a piece of clothing. Returning with only a Tripp-like fringe of hair on his otherwise absolutely bald pate, he gently handed the toupee over to Ryan as if handing a delicate bird to him.

Treating it as gently as the owner had, Ryan turned the piece over and peered into the underside. It seemed to be of an ultrafine lace mesh. Feeling through the hair and meeting his finger from the mesh underside, there was no doubt there was nothing between the two fingers.

He looked at Yelina. "Clean, as far as I can tell."

He then grabbed a newspaper and opened out a page and taking the toupee by two edges of the mesh, he shook it. The paper remained pristine. This convinced him not to go probing for wires. He'd probably done enough damage to the man's pride and joy as it was. He turned it over, gave it a pat as he might his own hair before going out his front door and handed it back to the mystified owner.

"I'm guessing you didn't find anything."

"You're right. And until we find who is doing this, I recommend you don't take this to any toupee shop for any reason, and at night, you might want to keep it locked away."

"Like someone would steal this?" Keenly looked at the toupee with a new respect.

"Like someone would rig it to blow up on your head."

"As it turns out, I have the perfect place for it when I'm not wearing it."

"A plain lockbox might not work."

"Come, I'll show you."

They followed the five foot eight inch man down a hall. He led them through a closed door and into a master bedroom of grand size. In the corner was a large cage and inside was one of the biggest dogs either of them had ever seen.

"Brutus is the fifth generation from a line of performing dogs. His great grandfather was the comic relief for the smaller dogs. He'd stand still while they walked under him or jumped over."

"He sure is big."

"He sleeps with me at night but the cage is his personal home. I bet if I put the hair in a box in his cage at night, there'd be no worries."

Before they left, they asked one more question. Did Keenly know of any other former carny people that wore toupees?

"Toupees or hair in general?"

"What do you mean?"

"I used to know a gal that I think lives somewhere in Miami now. Name is Trixie Blaire."

"We've talked with her. She wears a wig?"

"Did back in the day. It was mostly for the shows she was in but she had another wig for everyday use. I saw her once without her wig and whooboy, not pretty. Even back then her hair was so fine you could see her scalp."

"Nice to know. Anyone else you can think of?"

Keenly named two others but wasn't at all sure if they were still alive or even in Miami.

Leaving with the feeling that, now warned, Keenly would be able to take care of himself, they clambered back into the car to discuss their next move.

"Trixie keeps coming up, doesn't she?"

"And nothing to pin on her. Well, let's make sure she's safe."

"Then early lunch?"

"Why? You think the afternoon is going to be long?"

"Well, that, but I'd like to talk about last night."

Ryan nearly blushed. "Yeah, I'd like that too."

xxxx

Of the ten Emergency Rooms Horatio and Frank visited, four had staff who recalled the events. One was a head nurse.

"Oh, yeah, him. Gosh, must have been nearly a year ago. I remember because he's one of the few men I've ever seen displaying the same symptoms as a battered woman. Yeah, it happens, but it's so rare!"

She called for the records and when they arrived, she finished up a man's lacerated arm and took a quick look to refresh her memory further. "Yeah, see, when asked how he got the injuries, he said he fell down some stairs. I've heard that one a lot. Of course, the most common is 'walking into a door'. I wish just once someone would come up with a novel answer."

She walked to the light box and put the old x-ray film up. "That is not from falling down stairs. The fracture on the ulna is typical of a defensive wound. As you can see, it wasn't the only one. One is years old, from childhood, the break was about six years old then and the rest are chips and bruises. Some could be just from bumping into things like we all do but there are too many and some are definitely from blows with a stick or worse. Darn thing looks like the Rocky Mountains."

The next three E.R.s' staff had much the same dialog. They didn't pay attention to who brought him in. One thought it was a brother and another thought a neighbor had come with him. He had definitely been beaten but refused to admit that. All of the home addresses he gave put him in local parks, senior citizen homes or even pizza parlors.

"But you notice, Francis, that all of the addresses are within the circle of the hospitals. That means we're close."

Tripp pulled his smallish mouth together and looked in wide eyed askance. "It's still a circle that covers about forty miles."

"Smaller than we had before. Let's see if we can pull in the loop a little by visiting some restaurants and asking for samples of their salad dressings."

This proved to be more difficult than they expected. One thing they hadn't counted on was how proprietary chefs were of their recipes. They had thought that refusal would indicate guilt. Instead, they later found that the only ones who gave up samples did so because the dressing came from a bottle. The others demanded a warrant. A few admitted they would change their recipe for the sample rather than give up such precious information.

"Okay, I guess that didn't work out so good."

"We've got some samples and who knows what we'll get from them, Frank."

"Tell you what, I'll do some more knock and talk while you take those samples to the lab."

"You mean see if anyone recognizes the artistic rendering? Good idea. Call if you get a bite. I'll be at the lab for a while and then I have an appointment this evening."

"Will do."

xxxx

Trixie welcomed the two detectives into her home like they were long lost relatives. "I had a feeling you guys would show up again. I woke up this morning saying to myself that I bet you'd be back. Well, come on in. Can I get you anything?"

"Thank you, but no. We just want to ask if you wear a wig?"

That stopped the blousy older woman cold. She turned around quickly to reproach, "Well, of all things to ask."

Yelina bent her eyebrows up over her nose. "I'm so sorry to pose such a rude question. It's just that, well, it would help so much to know."

Trixie huffed through her nose. The ridges in her forehead folded slightly in consternation. "Yes it's rude to ask. Anyway, yes, I do. I always have worn wigs. My own hair started going south when I was in my twenties."

"Can we take a look at it?"

"What?"

"Anyone associated with the carnival scene who wears a wig is possibly in danger."

"You ain't going to see me without my hair. I'm going to the bathroom and I'll hand it to you. When you're done you hand it back, you get me?"

"Of course, I understand."

A quick examination proved the wig to be in need of cleaning but otherwise safe and sound.

After telling her to keep it under lock and key when she wasn't wearing it, they apologized again and left.

Half an hour later, Yelina was picking at a vegetable salad and Ryan was wrapping his mouth around the first bite of a vegetable and cheese sandwich.

They both kept looking at each other, grinning and then looking away, taking another bite of food. Finally, when each was done, either full or for lack of food, Ryan was first to swallow and say, "So, last night was great for me. I still have no regrets. How about you?"

Yelina opened her mouth but didn't speak. She took a drink of water. "I have no regrets either. I guess I was surprised more than anything. I mean, me being older than you. I didn't figure you for that."

Ryan looked up through his eyebrows into Yelina's face. "Ever think that's why last night happened?"

Yelina, at a loss, shook her curls.

"Truth is, I've always been attractive to women older than me. Don't ask me why, I've never known. Then, too, I've admired you from afar for several years. Somehow, though, the timing just never seemed right until now."

"Do you think we'd ever do it again?"

"Yelina, if I have anything to say about it, you bet it will. What say you?"

She leaned back, thought and then reached for her purse. "Let's say I might not be averse to seeing where this could go. Now let's get back to the lab and see about those fingerprints on the cap and what Eric picked up in that RV."

xxxx

Several hours later, Horatio and Frank arrived at the lab with samples they had from the restaurants. Horatio handed the conglomeration of carefully labeled small bags over to Natalia.

She eyed the red tape on each, making sure they were all intact. "Thank goodness Valera is going to be helping me on this. You say not all of them gave it up? I'd hate to see what you'd have if they did. I guess raspberry vinaigrette is all the rage now."

She took note of the addresses. "These are in the area where Solange and I had dinner last night. It just opened; Café Premiere Rue. It's on First Street at the Mary Brickell Village. Great food."

"That's an interesting area to go for a girls' night out." Horatio's smile showed his curiosity.

"I don't know if being gay has anything to do with knowing how to cook but I've found more good eats in the Brickell Bay area. The chef at this place was really nice, too. He was good looking and really obviously gay so when he brought us a complimentary dessert we were blown away. I guess he'd heard us talking about the work we did and said we were attractive besides so 'puleeze' he just had to do it." She giggled as she fluttered her hand. "Even without all that, I'd I recommend this place."

"I have an appointment with Solange tonight. I'll be sure to ask her about it."

"She must be really busy today. I've tried to call her a couple of times and get her machine."

"I called to verify and found the same."

"Say hi to her for me just to remind her she's got a cousin she could talk to once in a while."

"I'll do that."

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Oh ho! Guess what I got!"

Eric looked up. "Fleas."

Ryan gave his pal a wry look. "Very funny. I changed my flea collar this morning. No, one of the prints is a match to a guy matching the description from Terry McRea. A guy named Ford Stratton, eighteen years old, one hit on breaking and entering, nickname Gator."

"And the other print?"

"Still nada. Maybe if we drag Gator in by his tail, he'll talk about his mysterious friend."

"Let's bring Walter with us. Anyone named Gator is either mean or big or both. Walter is big but not mean. Maybe when we find this guy, if Walter stands and looks intimidating, that'll be enough to convince him into coming with us."

Unfortunately, Gator's address was not current. Talking with Terry again and then going to Gator's favorite haunts all proved fruitless as well. The three men returned to the lab merely well exercised from their walk.

xxxx

The air that came fresh from the ocean gave a blessedly cool feel to the post sunset evening. It was a rare time when with no thunderheads on the eastern horizon, a purple haze rose up as if to cover the earth in an evening blanket, putting it to sleep. It wasn't often that Horatio had time to take notice of such beauty. He had arrived a little early, but still went up to knock on the door. When receiving no answer, he knocked again. Figuring she must be running late, he returned to his car and sat back, trying to ignore the ache in his back, and the pain radiating down from his healing skull to his neck. Alexx and then Solange, both, had warned him the pain would come and go. Now it seemed here to stay.

To take his mind off of his condition, Horatio turned his thoughts to the cases in the works at the moment. The information he and Frank had gotten from the ERs about Ditka had taken them only in circles so far. The body itself yielded only information about his past, nothing else. Maybe Calleigh could find out more in her computer searches. Eric was slowly making progress on the prints from the RVs. His throbbing head told him not to go there for the moment. Ryan and Yelina were making the most headway. All of the victims had been connected to the traveling carnival life at one time. One could see why Dowd could have been a victim but why the others? They were all intertwined because of their backgrounds. Yet, aside from Thibodeaux, who seemed less and less likely, who had motive? They were missing a thread here. He would have to bring up that point to either Ryan or Yelina.

Speaking of whom, was he seeing something between those two? No, that wasn't the question; he'd been a CSI for too long to not see what was going on in his own back yard. Looking at it from the other side, he wondered how serious it was. Should he be concerned? He knew that, for himself, his feelings for Yelina had cooled to friendship by the end of their conversation the other night. Conceding that hers had as well, still, wasn't a leap to Ryan a little on the quick side? Should he be concerned for Ryan? Well, no; Ryan was in his thirties. Though he had never talked much about his personal life, everyone assumed he had one. Who knows what went on in that quick witted mind? Was Yelina on the rebound? Was she going for his exact opposite? He heaved a sigh. If they were happy, even for now, then so be it.

Half an hour later, he suddenly roused himself, realizing he had dozed off. His head had fallen to an angle and so now his neck was really hurting. Had he missed her arrival? Did she not see him? He slowly unfolded himself from his car, feeling old and worn, and only by determination, did not limp on his way up to the door. He knocked.

A second knock, louder this time, brought no response either. Okay, maybe his cop mind was working overtime. Before doing anything, however, he called Natalia's home number.

"Natalia, I'm at Solange's home and she isn't here. Our appointment time was for half an hour ago."

"That isn't like her, Horatio. Did you look into her windows?"

"I haven't but I will. Hang on, will you?"

His pain forgotten, Horatio walked down the porch steps to the front window and peered in. The room light was apparently on a timer. It was on and revealed only an empty room. He walked around to another window. A really dim night light was plugged into an outlet. He couldn't make out a thing.

"I'm not having much luck."

"I'm going to tell you where the house key is. Go to the north side of the house. There's a strip of reeds growing among some rocks. Counting from the front of the house, go to the third large rock and then go to the rock in back of it."

Doing as Natalia described, Horatio found a small plastic bottle under the rock. Opening it, he found the key.

"That's the key to the back door."

"I'll call you back in a few minutes."

First, entering the gate into the back yard, he found her personal hot tub in the back yard. He edged the yard and approached it in the shadows. Checking it, to his relief he found only water. Sticking close to the fence, he got to the corner of the house and, ducking under a window, went to the back porch. Entering the house into the kitchen he paused, listening. The light from the living room window showed the dining table and chairs in sharp silhouette. Only the swishing second hand of the wall clock could be heard. Still, he pulled his gun and held it down to his side. Walking through the front room and into the massage room he checked the client hot tub. Again, he found nothing. A moment later Horatio, profile lowered, he raised his gun and slowly followed the pistol, his head bent to one side, his eyes wide and watchful. Now he went to the most likely scene of a home accident, the bathroom. First, no running water gave him a sense of relief which increased when he found the small room empty. She hadn't been attacked when bathing. The next area he hated going to was the bedroom. Not only was that a private part of a woman he had quickly come to admire and respect, it was also often the scene of the most messy of murders. The room was peacefully empty of horror. She had not left in a hurry or been forced out. Holstering his weapon, he let Natalia know he'd found nothing.

Instead of being relieved, Natalia was alarmed. "Horatio, it's 'way past your appointment time. There's something really wrong here."

"Would she have an appointment book around?"

"She always took it with her on client calls in case they wanted to make another appointment."

"Did she talk about what people she was seeing?"

"No more than I talked about specifics of cases I'm working on. She thought of clients' privacy like it was a doctor-patient thing."

"Do you think she simply took the day off to visit someone? Could she be stuck in traffic someplace?"

"I doubt she'd just go off visiting. When she wasn't actually working with a client, she would do what business owners do to keep their heads above water. She was always doing laundry or doing mailers to let people know who she was and what she did or designing a new mailer. Besides, she put business ahead of personal life. If she was in traffic, she'd have called you, I'm sure. I'm going to call her mother and then my other cousins. I'll cover all the bases before I panic."

"I'll make a couple of quick calls to hospitals."

"Oh, god, I hope nothing has happened to her."

"First, let's work on finding her. Call when you're done on your end."

An hour later, the house still bereft of its owner, Horatio and Natalia were consulting face to face on their next step.

"I just couldn't not be here."

"I know. She's family."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"I have already put out a BOLO on her car. If it's anywhere on the streets, it will be seen."

Natalia smiled weakly. "I guess I meant anything we can do to find her, go out and look ourselves, or something." She started sobbing. "I feel so helpless."

Horatio gently took his friend and colleague into his arms. "We have to think positively for the moment."

Natalia snuffled. "You know, she's a sucker for people in pain. Maybe someone called on an emergency basis. She'd go anywhere and stay as long as she was needed for that. It could be she forgot her appointment with you, forgot to call."

"If we don't find her car or if she hasn't come home by the morning, we'll head up a major search."

"I'm going to stay and wait for her. I'll call you as soon as she shows up."

"Will you be okay here?"

"Sure, I've stayed overnight here lots of times."

xxxx

The next morning, the sound of the chopper droned overhead in an ever widening pattern. On the ground, scent dogs barked, excited to show their masters what they could do. The hubbub of official business chattered and lights from the police cars created a silent racket all of their own. Above the din, Horatio's rough voice shouted orders, urging the men to not waste any time.

Natalia had awakened at first light and completely searched the house. She had hoped her cousin had come home tired, not noticed her on the couch and simply gone to bed. Her cousin's home was as empty of the owner as it had been before. She hadn't felt at all bad about rousting Horatio out of bed. This was now an official police emergency.

She stood by her boss trying to listen to everything all at once, hoping the radios would report something good, or the helicopter had spotted something or the dogs would howl differently to indicate a find. She had been through this with her sister a few years ago and that was enough. Why should she have to endure it again?

"That stuff is straight from her personal dirty laundry. Wrap the dogs' heads in it if you have to; give them a good whiff." Horatio, his head donned with earphones and a mike, was pointing at the K-9 Police officers. He reached up and switched on the mike to the helicopter. "See anything? Disturbed ground is the most likely target but check the infrared. Anything that is entirely still or maybe underground. Got that?" He flicked the switch off and tore the headpiece away.

Spotting his policeman friend Horatio called out, "Frank! Any reports from the field?"

Frank shook his head and headed over to the redhead. "Nada. I'm sorry Natalia. Calleigh called all the hospitals again this morning too."

He looked at Natalia's worn and wilted features. "Hey, kiddo, until we find otherwise, no news is good news. We don't give up when it comes to family, you know that."

Natalia smiled weakly. "I know, Frank. It's just so hard."

Tripp leaned towards Horatio a little. He could see the blue eyes flicking from one group to another, making sure everyone was doing was it took to find the missing woman. Still there was other business. "By the way, I got a few maybe's yesterday on our garden guy from the area we've been targeting. They seemed to think he was partnered with a guy that just opened a new restaurant. I think it was some place on First we didn't go to."

Natalia's ears perked up. "Frank, did I just hear you say you got a hit on that garden guy? The restaurant wouldn't be Café Premiere Rue, would it?"

Frank shrugged his broad shoulders, his green eyes blank. He dug into his pocket for his notebook. "Uh, yeah, as a matter of fact."

"Horatio! That's the place we ate at the other night! Solange left her business card there. The guy would have her phone number! I know he heard us talk. Do you think there's a connection?"

Not saying a word, Horatio pulled out his cell and checked his messages. Then he made a call.

"Calleigh. Have there been any messages either for me or just at the lab in general?"

Apparently her first response was to the negative. His pause showed that she had gone to check at the desk. A moment later, he hung up, his lips folded on each other in anger, his eyes flashing murderously under his brows. "A note was left at the desk last night. It reads, 'Lay off the man in the garden case or you'll never see Solange Brancusi again.'

"Oh no! Horatio! What are we going to do?"

"We're going to find the owner of that restaurant…"

Before Horatio could finish his sentence he was interrupted by the blaring of a car horn. He looked up to see the police lines open up to allow a small hatchback vehicle approach the house. As soon as the driveway was clear it pulled in and Solange stumbled out.

Before she could say a word, she was embraced by her cousin and surrounded by dogs, which, having found their target, howled their success to their handlers.

Echoing Natalia's questions, Horatio muscled his way next to the woman and asked, "Have you been hurt?"

Dazedly, Solange answered, "I think he would have tried but he's not in the mood to for now."

Horatio cocked his head to one side. "Meaning?"

"Last night, I got a call from this guy saying he hurt so bad he could hardly stand it." Suddenly her eyes opened wide in alarm. "Oh no! I forgot to call you, didn't I?"

A smile flickered across the haggard features. "Probably just as well. Not to worry. Go on."

"I got there and he showed me to a bedroom. I thought he left to change into a robe. Before I knew what was going on, I heard the door lock and that's where I spent the night. I tried getting out but the window was stuck. This morning, he came in with a rope in his hand. I guess he thought he was going to tie me up. As soon as he got close enough, I..well, I hurt him. I got out of there after that."

"The owner of that café from the other night? Right?" Natalia couldn't make herself let go of her cousin's shoulders.

"How did you know?"

"I'll tell you all about it later. First, are you okay or could an EMT take a look at you?"

"Honey, I'm fine. You might want to send someone to that guy's house. I might have done some serious damage to him."

"We will, believe me. First, I'll get you inside and settled."

Natalia turned to look over her shoulder at Horatio. Come in with us Horatio. She can give you the address inside.

Horatio, turned to Frank. "Release everyone here with my thanks. I'll be out in a minute and we'll go pay a visit to a chef."

Inside, Solange threw herself down into a chair, leaned forward and rubbed her face with both hands. "Whew! All that out there for me. That's amazing!"

"We were worried! Are you sure you're alright?"

"Absolutely. I could use a shower and a nap and after that I'll be fine."

Horatio went down on one knee in front of her and gave the dark haired woman a searching look. "You've mentioned that you hurt this man. Can you please describe how?"

Solange raised her head and stared solemnly into the bright sky blue eyes. Then she gave a quick look at Natalia's anxious face through tear filled eyes. "Uh, well, first I kicked him in the side of the thigh. There's a very tender area that, when given a sudden, hard blow can nearly cripple a person. He is in very good shape though so he only stumbled and I had to step in and jam my fingers under his rib cage. All I know is, I ran and he didn't follow." She sobbed.

Natalia asked, "What's wrong with that? You got away didn't you?"

"I'm a healer. I'm not supposed to hurt people. I may have killed that man." She had a pleading look on her face.

Horatio looked at Natalia without comprehension then back to Solange. Solange was barely five and a half feet tall and though broad shouldered, didn't look like she could do too much damage to a grown man.

"You have to remember Horatio, in learning how where it feels good to touch, I also have to learn where it doesn't feel so great. I know the effects of both. Depending on his physiology, he could be okay or he could be close to death. I didn't stop to check.

Nodding in comprehension, he assured her, "We'll bring an EMT with us."

First, giving the address she'd been at, Solange then headed down the hallway.

Natalia turned to Horatio. "I'm going to stay with her."

"Of course. Take as long as you need. Make sure she rests. I'll call you when we have the man."

xxxx

SWAT had been called on the way. Everyone first parked down the street while the address was verified. More officers blocked off traffic while Horatio, his team and the Special Weapons Attack Team got into place.

A loud knock, announcement of who they were and orders to appear went unanswered. A heavily armored man used a battering ram and in one blow broke the door in. Using the heel-toe quick short step that allowed immediate bracing and turning, the black helmeted men lock stepped in and then spread out seeking their target.

Ten minutes later, two very puzzled detectives were conferring in a small bedroom.

"You say this is her massage table, Horatio, so where is the guy that owns this place? Didn't you say he'd be here, injured? He's not at his restaurant, either."

"I'd think this was the wrong address if I wasn't looking at the table. That's her bag on the bed too."

"Well, if he ain't hurt, he's probably skipped town by now."

"Let's check the back yard. We're still looking for where this guy got the poison plant."

Going out the back door and down the narrow wooden steps, they didn't have to look far. The yard was nothing but grass from the house to the back and side to side.

Frank rubbed a paw against his chin. "Just as well. I have no idea what a poisonous plant looks like.

They were interrupted by a young uniformed police officer. "Sirs? There's a neighbor out front who might have some information."

Outside, they were greeted by a man whose hair was as golden red as Horatio's but in considerably less abundance. His pasty scalp glistened with perspiration under a few strands of hair as he spoke. "I guess you didn't notice the sign in the window there, did you?" He nodded towards the house.

Both Horatio and Frank turned to look at the living room window. The sign read 'For Rent, Furnished' and in smaller letters were particulars of the property and contact details.

"Do you know who owns the place?"

"Yeah. A couple of guys used to live there but they moved out over a year ago. I never really met them. Seemed like nice guys though, especially the taller, dark haired fellow. The other was really shy. I almost never saw him."

"Any idea where they moved to?"

The man pushed back the fine threads of his hair that the breeze had pushed into his face. "All I know is that one of the days they were moving, I walked by and the shy one was singing a tune. You know, that one from the old TV show, only he changed the words. He was singing something about moving on up, only instead of to the east side, he said south and then something about 'quiet and 'walk to the shops.' Being close to the throughway here, it can be a little noisy."

"A year ago, you say? Anyone rented the place since then?"

The man described a family that had moved out recently and how he'd seen new, furniture from one of the local bargain stores being moved in to replace the trashed stuff left behind. No one in the family sounded anything like the man Natalia had described.

Thanking the man and watching him walk away, one of them then looked up to the sky and the other scanned the street and houses as if expecting an enemy to dare approach.

Frank spoke first. "I'll call in to see if the home address for the owner of that café is current. You wanna bet it's not?"

Horatio smiled at a cloud. "No Frank, I don't. That would make the job too easy, don't you think?"

Frank grunted. "You got that right."

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Gator's mother, a tiny wizened creature, was waiting outside of the ramshackle house when the three CSIs arrived. It had taken some sweet talking to Tripp so he would get in contact with his street contacts and then no little greasing of palms to find the address. The street folk could smell desperation a mile away and milked it for all it was worth.

Her swamp accent was thick enough to cut with a knife. "I cain't tell ya how glad I was you called. He's in a bad way."

Eric was first to speak. "Why didn't you call 911?"

The woman ran a thin hand through her greasy hair. "I kept hoping he'd come out of it. When you called, I figured I'd just let you take care of him."

While watching the EMTs load her son into the ambulance, she moaned, "Damned fool! He's going to kill himself one day and I'm going to be stuck with the burial expense."

One of the EMTs brought a clipboard and asked, "Did he tell you what he took, ma'am?"

The woman looked nervously at the CSIs. "I ain't sayin' how I come by the information or any particulars, mind you. When he came stumblin' in, I knew he was on a binge again. From what I could get, first he got liquored up in the Glades, then he sobered up enough to help a couple of friends offload some Cuban seegars from a boat. With the money he'd got from that, I guess he bought drugs and came here. When I tried to get him up this mornin' he was like you see."

Oddly, the young man wasn't nearly as large as the name seemed to imply.

"I was tryin' to figger out what to do when you called."

When asked about the nickname she cackled shortly. "When he was in high school, he was a football player. A good one too. God! He was the picture of health then. His only vice was drinking that sport juuice. He drank so much, everyone began calling him Gator. I don't know what happened to make him such a mess. It makes me sick to look at him now."

Walking back to the hummer, Eric, always family minded, mumbled, "More likely she doesn't want to know what her son is up to most of the time."

Thinking his own thoughts, Ryan, almost without thinking, called out, "Shotgun."

Rocking the huge vehicle as he climbed into the back, Walter shook his head. "I guess there's a time when a parent has to give up."

Eric's sharp look over his shoulder from the driver's seat showed his disagreement.

Walter's silent reply was a sad eyed stubbornness showing he stood by his position.

At the hospital, the emergency doctor, a short woman who was almost as round as she was tall, took her time before coming out of the curtained area. She huffed as she looked over her notes, obviously deciding what to tell these law officers. "He's conscious but that's the best I can say for his condition right now. Before I let you in there, I have to say that if he had any brain cells before this stunt of his, there are fewer now. I have no idea if what he will say is reliable. He's not quite vegetable matter but one more trick like this and he will be. I don't have to tell you to be short and don't upset him, do I?" Her tone of voice said the last was a given, not a request.

Eric gave the doctor his most earnest look. "I only have a couple of questions. If he doesn't remember, he doesn't and I'll be gone."

Ryan and Walter stood at the parted curtain opening and watched Eric try to get Gator's attention.

Gator seemed dazed rather than confused. His eyes kept wandering over the curtains, the machines he was hooked to and then the people surrounding him.

Eric thought the young man looked like someone who thought they were being examined by aliens from space ships. "Hey, Gator. Is that what they call you, Gator? Is that like a real name?"

Laying back on the small pillow, he answered tiredly, "Yeah, that's my name, Gator. Who are you? What are you doing to me?"

"Me? I'm a CSI and I just need you to answer a question about who you were with the other night."

"Other night? Don't remember no other night. Don't much remember last night neither."

"Sure you remember. You were out with Billy McCauber, Terry McRea and another guy. McRea, he got real drunk and passed out. Remember?"

Gator shook his head from side to side. "Hmm, yeah, McRea is a real piss-ant; can't hold his drink. I didn't have enough money to buy so much to get me to pass out."

"Gator, you know you guys started a fire out there?"

"Yeah?" he considered the idea. "Guess we did."

"Tell you what, you give me the name of the other guy besides McCauber and McRea and we'll try to see to it that you get a nice comfy cot in a state recovery ward."

It was obvious his first answer was a kneejerk reaction. "Don't know the name of the other guy."

"Hey, you go to prison for burning up a state park! Then, when you get out, you're still stuck with the addiction. With help, maybe you can be something useful one day. You help me and I'll do everything I can to help you get the monkey off your back."

Gator's head tossed side to side a couple of times. "Yeah, okay. All's I know is McCauber called him Marky."

Ryan's ears pricked up.

Walking down the hallway to the hospital's exit, Ryan was saying, "I don't know how he could have done it but the name is just too coincidental."

A call to Horatio gave them permission to pick up Terry McRea for another round of questioning.

xxxx

Terry looked uncertainly at the three men. Walter stood leaning against a window frame, his arms folded across his chest, a calm gaze on his face. Ryan was seated directly across from Terry, whose chair was against the wall of the interrogation room. Ryan had both hands laid flat on the table and he was leaning over them, his chin almost touching his thumbs. Eric, doing the talking, was at the end of the table, his hands supporting his body as he was leaning forward.

"Don't give me that look! What were you guys so het up about that you had to go all the way out to the dry part of the glades! I'm betting you and your cousin, Billy, and this other guy, Marky, were out to celebrate something. Now, Gator, he was just out for the beer. That Gator will join any party any time, we know that. Right? The rest of you, though, you had something to celebrate, didn't you?"

Terry looked from Eric to Ryan and then let his gaze shift to the big man in the distance and quickly down to his hands. One hand nervously wandered up to an ear. He stuck his pinky into the canal and twirled. He was too nervous to look when he brought it out.

"Let's put it this way, you and Billy were letting off steam after your triumph over downing a cop. We're still looking for the gun you took from him. If you were smart, you tossed it into a canal or at least into a trash bin."

Terry twitched causing the three CSIs to glance quickly at each other.

"What we'd like to know is what was Marky along for? Who is he? What was he celebrating?"

Eric leaned forward in the face of Terry's silence and roared, "Your stupid stunt caused a fire and burned nearly a hundred and fifty acres. They're still out looking to see if there are any underground patches that could sprout up and start all over again. That's tens of thousands of dollars in damage and man hours! You want all of the blame? Fine, you'll get a fine that should only take you about twenty-five years to pay off and that's after you get out of prison."

Terry cowered under the fine spray of spit from his interrogator's mouth. "Alright! Alright! Marky is something like a third cousin. His pop was a knife thrower at a carny when my family was part of it. His pop came to stay here in Miami with Marky's mamma before he was born. After a while, when my family left the carny, we'd sometimes stay around Miami for a few months. We'd visit with Marky and his other relatives when we passed through."

Terry then shut his mouth as if he had decided he'd told as much as he was willing to do. Unfortunately, for him, he started chewing on the side of his lower lip; a tell revealing he was conflicted about what to do if urged to say more.

As one, first Walter lowered his arms and shifted to stand on both feet, Ryan rose halfway from his chair, and Eric leaned in even closer.

His face about four inches from the wavering youth, Eric roared, "Tell us now! What was Marky celebrating?"

Temporarily forgetting whatever hells his relatives would put him through for telling family secrets, Terry whined, "I'm not sure! He didn't say much until he had a forty-ouncer in him. Yeah, Billy and me were full of ourselves. I'd been with them that day. Billy's pop sent us out to give out business cards. Coming back, we saw that cop. We don't like cops and it was clear he was up to no good against us. He was standing there just staring at our homes with something evil on his mind. Man! It was just too easy. So, we whacked him with a gun Billy was carrying and took his stuff."

Eric stood back. "Okay, so far so good. We'll get to Detective Caine's gun and phone later. Get to the part where you were in the Glades. Are you saying Marky had no part in the breaking and entering in those houses?"

Terry looked up in surprise.

Eric gave a disgusted look at his victim. "Yes or no?"

Terry sighed in resignation. "No, he wasn't with us that day."

Eric leaned forward even closer than he had before and lowered his voice to a murderous growl. "I'm not going to ask you again, McRea. Tell us what Marky was all happy about or I'll toss you down a hole and put the lid on myself for assaulting an officer."

"Alright! I don't see Marky all that often. In fact, I only see him when the other cousins come into town. It's the adults that mostly want to connect. So, no, he didn't have nothing to do with the cop thing. He was tagging along with Billy McCauber that afternoon and we told him we was going to go celebrate and he said he wanted to celebrate too. Like I said, at first, he wouldn't say anything about what he was so danged happy about. Once we'd all had about half of them big bottles, first Billy and I started tellin' and dancin' around the little fire we made. Billy's a real wild man and he started jumpin' over the fire. That's when Marky would shout out 'Boom!' and laugh."

Ryan, his hazel green eyes glowing under his brows, rose. "He'd say 'Boom?'"

"Yeah."

"What else did he say?"

"That was pretty much all. Once, while he was rolling on the ground laughing himself silly, he said, 'off goes his head'. He was too drunk to know what he was sayin' by that time."

Outside the room the three conferred.

Ryan went first. "I believe him. Unfortunately, I don't think this kid's recollection of a night of drinking will get Marky into the pokey."

Walter was next. "While you work on that, I'll get Terry here booked on arson charges along with Gator. Then I'll go find Billy."

Clearly Eric's mind was racing ahead of his words. "I'll also call to check the Earhart Park trash dump schedule. If we're lucky, it hasn't been picked up yet. If it hasn't, I'll take Natalia…oh, wait, no, she's off for the day."

The tall Cuban pulled his cell out. "H? We have a problem. I need a partner in dumpster diving. Nat is out and Calleigh is in no condition. Everyone else is busy. Now what?"

xxxx

Two hours later Maxine Valera said, "Great! My first field trip and it's a dumpster dive."

Delighted to be with his girlfriend, Eric grinned. "Hey, we could have had to go into the sewers. This way, at least we can come up for air on a regular basis. Besides it'll only take a couple of hours."

Maxine gave him a withering look. "Is that per dumpster or altogether?"

Eric's questioning look told Valera she was likely to be there for most of the day. "There's this one and then the one behind the other wash house over there." She pointed. "My parents used to bring me here when I was a kid. We'd go to the farm on the other side of the park. I'm pretty sure there's at least one dumpster out there."

Eric wondered why his lady hadn't moved up from the lab rat ranks before this. "I don't think Billy or Terry would have walked across the park to dump the gun. I didn't see the other dumpster here though. If we don't find the gun in these dumpsters, we have to go through the smaller cans near the picnic tables and the ones in the bathrooms."

Maxine shrugged her shoulders. "Oh well, after sniffing garbage for a few hours, I won't mind being late for dinner because I won't have any appetite."

A crooked grin from Eric showed both wry agreement and sympathy. "Now you know why sometimes I just want to go home and go to bed."

"Now you know why I'd rather be a lab rat. Why not go through the smaller cans first?"

"Most perps use the dumpsters thinking whatever they have would get lost in there. Too often, it does. I've been out at landfills and found bodies and guns that have been put there only days before by the trucks."

Valera sighed. "Okay, give me a boost."

xxxx

Facing Mrs. Dennison at the Huntington Hospital again, Ryan and Yelina waited while she finished her phone call. When she looked up to them, she showed she was not happy. It was something they were used to in their work.

Before she could voice her objection, Yelina said, "We just have one question. How do your patients receive their mail?"

"I'm not sure what you mean. The mail truck delivers a bag here and we distribute it to the patients."

"Does Marky get much mail? Any packages? Does he have any access to computers here?"

The hospital supervisor raised an eyebrow and let one side of her face develop a smile. "That's four questions and it doesn't sound like you are finished."

Yelina smiled while letting her eyebrows develop into a slight arch over the bridge of her perfect nose. "I'm so sorry. This is truly important. We can't say why. Surely this isn't invading his privacy. Your answers could be of great help to us."

"Let me make a call."

After a few minutes on the phone, the supervisor said, "No, Marky doesn't get much mail and no packages." She then turned to her monitor. "As for computer access, yes, they all get as much as time will allow depending on the demands from other patients. They all have to sign up the day they want it. We scan the sign in sheets. She referred to her computer screen. It looks like he hasn't been online for some time."

"Do you know what sites he visits?"

"No, we don't keep track. As long as the patients don't act out while looking, they can visit any site there is."

Outside the hospital building, Yelina pulled out her phone. Apparently she called a contact in the court house. When she finished, she had a smug look on her face. "Ever try to get a judge to sign a warrant to get the names of box holders from a post office in Miami much less any we need to go to?"

Ryan only considered the monumental effort for a second. "Who'd you have to pay with the lives of your next three grandchildren to get it?"

Yelina's face lit up with crafty charm. "Just remember, the next time you need a favor, I'll want payback."

Ryan's eyes lit up with anticipation. "I can hardly wait."

Three hours later, after six post offices, they had a hit.

This time, on the promise of dinner, it was Ryan's turn to be charming to the very young girl when the sight of the warrant threw her into a tizzy. "See? Here is where it says we can see your list of box holders."

She looked at the wall of locked boxes and back to the piece of paper in Ryan's hand and then up to his eyes.

Seeing that she wasn't sure, he gently explained, "Now, see this? It's the seal of county of Dade and the City of Miami. It's against the law for this to be on anything but an official document. You've seen our badges and you know we're officers of the law and would only carry official warrants. So, it's all okay."

Yelina knew that Ryan's eyes had completely charmed that girl. Of all he'd said, she probably only heard 'okay' but that was enough.

She nodded and went into the rear of the small mini-mall Post Office. A moment later, the dazed, smitten look still on her pretty face, she handed two sheets of paper to Ryan. "I hope this is what you want."

"Yelina, look! A box listed under Trixie Blaire's name."

Turning to the young woman, he asked, "Have you ever seen this Trixie Blaire?"

Shaking her head decisively, the girl declared, "No, only her son comes in. He says she's bed ridden and so he comes here from his home to take her mail to her. Isn't that the sweetest thing?"

"Yeah. Does he ever get packages?"

"Once in a while. I remember because they're small but sort of heavy. Odd too because they're addressed to her box but with a different name."

"Like what kind of name?"

Something like tree removal. I guess she runs a business. One package seemed to be about the size that would contain business cards but it couldn't have been."

"Why do you say that?"

"Usually I don't notice return addresses, you know? It's just that my boyfriend wants to start a gardener business and wants business cards. So, thinking maybe this package was right for that, I looked and it was from a place called More Bang$." She explained that the ending 'S' was a dollar sign. "I don't think a place with a name like that would make business cards. Then the same company sent a bigger package and it was labeled 'Handle with Care.' It all sort'a stuck in my mind, you know?"

"Does she get anything else?"

"Yeah, but it was real light. It's from some computer supply company and addressed right to her, not to her company."

Ryan displayed the biggest smile he could generate which, considering his charm, fairly lit the room.

Another call to the court house brought them another search warrant. This time they headed back to the Huntington Hospital with a sense of purpose.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Stationed at his usual central point in the lab hall, Horatio pulled the twittering phone out of his jacket pocket. His voice showed his worry. "Solange? Are you alright?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm fine. I had a nap and, well, I feel more like I just woke up from a bad dream."

"You make it sound good. I'm glad to hear that."

"Nat said you were surprised not to find a bleeding corpse in that house. I should apologize for being so dramatic in my description, I guess."

"No worries, we don't particularly like finding bleeding bodies. She said you hit him in a couple of nerve centers."

"It's why we body workers have to learn about them. If we happen to hit on them it can really upset a client. If those places are hit hard enough, it can actually shock the person to death."

"Those are the kinds of points the people in the martial arts learn, right?"

"Come to think of it, yes. I still feel awful about what I did, but I'm glad I didn't kill him."

"Solange, you survived as did he. We found no trace of him."

"I'm not sure whether to be glad on that point or not. Anyway, I also wanted to thank you for having my table returned to me. I was really glad to see it wasn't damaged."

"You got the bag too?"

"I did. So, will you be able to make it for an appointment tonight? I imagine your back isn't getting any better without some attention."

"Solange, is that a good idea, considering what you've been through?"

"Horatio, it's not like I was hurt or anything. I had a night of worry and that was it. I'm not some poor fading violet; I'm strong as an ox, thank goodness. Nor am I all that busy that I had to shuffle any clients around to try to get a bunch done today so don't go feeling sorry for me or anything."

Horatio considered the likelihood of finding her attacker, Barry Souza in the next ten or twelve hours. The rest of the cases were being handled quite well by the team and yes, his back could use the touch of the best pair of hands he'd ever found. "What time?"

"Will seven be okay?"

"I'll be there barring-"

"I know, unforeseen circumstances. It's all I hear from Natalia." Solange's voice lilted with humor.

"Seven then." Horatio closed his phone and caught himself smiling broadly.

xxxx

"As I explained before, the patients here have complete independence so, no, I don't know where Marky is. He may have gone for a walk."

Yelina was tired and had a hard time holding on to the last shred of her patience. "Then that will make our job easier." She looked to Ryan who seemed to be in agreement with her assessment.

They decided to split up. Yelina took Marky's room and Ryan went to the crafts room where they had seen him using a soldering iron.

After their talk with the postal clerk, they found that Big Bang$ was a distributor for explosives. It seemed Big Bang$ thought that Marky's pseudonym was the owner of a tree removal service which was licensed to use explosives in limited quantities. Indeed, according to them, the orders were always for less than the amount for which the license was authorized and so gave no cause for suspicion. At the same time, the amount ordered was still less than what had been used in the murders. It could be he had done quite a bit of research on what would be under suspect and so he could easily fly under the radar. Besides the C-4 he had also bought road flares from them. This was in line with common practice since companies wanted to warn traffic of danger. No one made a connection to the black powder in the flares that burned hot and quick that would ignite the C-4 underneath.

Ryan did his best to make himself invisible in the hallway while patients were herded out of the crafts room.

The nurse, the same who had hustled he and Yelina out when Marky got upset a couple of days previously, even though just as truculent as he been before, took the time to explain why he wanted the room cleared. He said that there was no need to upset his charges while Ryan did his job. "Most have enough trust issues without seeing another guy's personal table being nosed into."

The large man, this time in a pink shirt decorated with Tom and Jerry figures, huffed when Ryan asked if the table drawer was locked. He pulled a key from a bunch on a ring and thrust it forward. "Don't lose it!"

"Thanks."

Less than ten minutes later, Ryan pulled out his ringing phone. "Yelina? I was just about to call you."

Listening to her comments, he replied, "Yeah, nothing here either. I'll meet you at the front door."

Once Ryan had found the nurse he returned the key and couldn't help remarking, "Nice shirt."

Though silent, the muscle twitch in the nurse's face spoke volumes.

The couple met in the central hall.

"Ryan, we're going to have to search his mother's house next."

Gazing into Yelina's beautifully wise eyes, Ryan read her concern over what had to be the next step. "But she's said he's not living with her. How can we prove he stores anything there?"

"Ryan, you know what we're going to have to do." Yelina stared into his face and watched the realization dawn.

"Oh! Come on, Yelina. Again? She's a nice lady but I'm not sure I've got that much charm."

Yelina shrugged her shoulders. "It worked on the post clerk."

"Yeah that was easy; she was young and cute. Trixie is my mother's age and not cute."

Yelina tilted her head to one side in a fascinating manner while her face took on a determined expression. "Alright, you're forcing me to pull out this card; when we're done, dinner, fancy restaurant, on me."

Ryan paused, his eyes down as if reading a complicated contract. "Dessert included?"

"Whatever is on the menu," Yelina countered.

Ryan's face twisted in a cockeyed smile. "Darn! Thought I had you for a second. Okay, I guess I can dredge out something from the charm box for some fine food and great company."

"Just don't use it all up. Leave something for the company, please." Yelina wheeled and pushed open the hospital door.

Enjoying the sight in front of him he answered quietly, "Yes ma'am, no problem."

xxxx

"I did not do it on purpose, honest." Eric spoke the words as he put his hands up protectively.

"Oh, sure." Valera's tone was unbelieving.

"Really, eighty percent of the time, weapons are thrown in the nearest largest disposal available whether it's ocean or a dumpster. Street drains and bathroom trash cans are next."

"So since there were no drains, why couldn't we hit the trash cans first, and then go for the dumpster?"

Eric shrugged. He knew Maxine was tired and frustrated. After several hours of combing through trash, so was he and trying to explain the logic of procedures wasn't helping. Looking at the two guns on the lab counter, he crossed his arms defensively. This, he supposed, was another small taste of why team members weren't supposed to get personally involved. He and Calleigh had had a few brush-ups and they'd eventually decided it would just be easier to work together unencumbered by personal feelings. He'd thought that, since Maxine and he didn't actually work together, their personal involvement wouldn't hurt. Now he wondered if a cop could ever safely keep his work life out of his personal life. "It's just the way it is, Maxine. It's not like I was trying to play a trick on you."

Maxine's dark eyes flashed as she blinked and her expressive mouth opened to an 'O'. "Oh gosh, Eric, I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I was just looking at it from a personal standpoint, I guess. You know, little easy places first, big harder places last."

Eric's easy smile appeared as his gaze softened. "I guess I just assumed you knew. I can see I'll never make it into teaching crime detection in the classroom. We'll talk about it tonight, alright?"

Valera took this as her cue. "Okay, I'll get to work gathering up the dried blood and these red hairs on this gun and run them against Horatio's DNA profile. Not that there's any doubt that it's his."

"Give me a ring when you're done so I can get the prints from both pistols."

Forty minutes later, Eric was on the phone to Walter. "Are you still out hunting down Billy McCauber? Well, if he's with his father, Seth, bring the old man in too. In fact, you can put out a BOLO on him since he's got that outstanding traffic violation."

Eric had been walking down the halls when he made his call. Now, pocketing his phone, he stood by Horatio's side. "H, good news. Maxine and I found the gun that was used to hit you at the park. It had dried blood and short red hairs on the butt. Better than that, it had clear prints, not only of Billy McCauber, but his old man, Seth, too. Seth's prints were on top of his son's. We also found your gun in the same place."

"Meaning he took the weapons from his son and disposed of them."

"Probably after witnessing what his son had done."

"Are you sure one of the guns is mine?"

"A police issue glock with your issue number on it. Calleigh is testing it against the test fire from your gun on file now."

"And Seth has that outstanding traffic violation, doesn't he?"

The two men grinned at each other.

"It may take a day or two to find them, but we will."

"Let me know when you do. I'd like a word or two with young Billy."

"How is your head, by the way?"

Horatio bowed his neck as if to test the question. His answering voice was quiet and edged. "The injury is healing but the memory of it will last a while longer."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Although he was growing his hair longer now which covered up the scar behind his ear from where he'd been shot that didn't mean he still didn't resent the recovery. He went on, "Maxine is running the blood samples and the red hairs on the other gun. She says the hair samples have at least two tags and maybe more. She also thinks the blood samples remained clean because they were just covered with paper towels."

Horatio squinted his eyes a moment, as if trying to make out figures in a dense fog. "You know what? I'm going to go give her a fresh sample of my DNA. I've been dealing too long with attorneys not to believe they'd find something wrong with anything but the latest run of my DNA."

"I'll go see what Calleigh has on the bullets. Between the two guns, one will put those two away."

Eric heard the words 'firing two shots' from down the hall and then felt more than heard the muffled vibrations of gunshots fired into a water well. Entering the gun test area, he nearly laughed as the short blond, bereft of the four inch heels she had worn most of her adult life, struggling with her bulk and the long stick with the magnet on the end. The tank, like so many objects in a man's world had been built for taller and more slender people, not for short and extremely pregnant women.

Coming up beside her, he gently took the wand from her hand, spotted the two bullets in the bottom of the water filled chute and fished them out.

"Thanks Eric. Some things are really getting awkward nowadays." She took the bullets from his hand, held them up between her thumb and forefinger, nodded to herself, and walked into her department.

"You could have called for help first, you know." He followed her.

Calleigh's unabashed grin filled her cheeks. "Oh, you know me, independent to the last. It's driving Frank crazy." She turned to a cabinet and opened a drawer. From a section marked with Horatio's name, she pulled out a bullet.

"You better watch it or he'll find some uni fresh out of the academy and tie him to your wrist."

"He's already thought of that idea. I told him I'd have him and the uni assigned to the K-9 unit as attack dummies for a day if he tried anything so silly." Calleigh mounted one bullet she'd just shot and the known exemplar from Horatio's stolen gun onto the comparison microscope.

"Then just remember you're not alone in the lab here? Alright?"

Calleigh's smile turned to chagrin. "I know and I will." She gave a second glance into the microscope. "Take a look, Eric."

Eric stared into the microscope at the two bullets and saw the matching barrel marks. "Give that lady a prize, we have a match. Strike one on the McCaubers."

Calleigh sighed ecstatically. "I love it when science and guns get together."

Eric laughed. "You love it when guns and anything you have to do with get together."

"I do, don't I?"

By the end of the day, both the blood and the hair had been matched to Horatio.

xxxx

"Oh! What a pleasant surprise!" Trixie was wrapped in a grease stained terry robe; her feet wrapped in scuff slippers of the same material. Her face was shiny with cream.

"We really hate to be such a bother. It's just that we keep finding new information and then questions keep coming up." Ryan was using his imagination as best he could, pretending Ms. Blaire was dressed as she might have appeared on stage twenty years ago with her magician husband, in a bangled costume and fully made up face. She was probably quite a looker in a blousy kind of way.

"Oh? Gosh! I can't imagine what else I could help with. Come on in."

The sound of a microwave signal came just after she closed the door.

Yelina politely asked, "Are we disturbing your dinner? We'll try not to be too long."

"Aw, don't worry about it." She waved to the couch as she seated herself on her recliner. This time, she made no effort to move the items, magazines, a box of tissue, and a few snack cake wrappers, from it.

After making a space to sit, Ryan asked, "Is Marky in the habit of inadvertently yelling out words?"

"Huh? Like what?"

"We haven't heard it personally but a witness declared that he and a couple of friends were with him getting drunk the other night and he kept yelling out 'boom'. Is this like him?"

"Drunk, was he?" She seemed to consider the matter. "I guess I never saw him drunk. I mean, there's some things a parent doesn't want to be part of and, for me, watching her kid learn to handle his liquor is one."

"Even not drunk, did he yell out words? Sometimes people do that under stress."

Trixie seemed to be talking to someone to one side and seated slightly lower. "No, I wouldn't say he ever did. But, you know, maybe he was sicker than I ever thought."

"Okay, let me ask you this, did he ever play with explosives? You know, firecrackers?"

Trixie again averted her eyes. "What? You're not saying he might have done those wig explosion crimes, are you? You think he could have?"

Ryan looked up at Yelina who had refused to sit. He could see her confirmation of where he should take the discussion next. "We think there's a possibility. The problem is we can't find the explosives or the rest of what he used. We have evidence that he ordered the material, some of it in your name under a company name you obviously don't own. It was delivered to a post office box that's about half way between here and the hospital."

"Are you sure it was my boy?" Her hands began nervously winding around each other.

"We have a positive I.D. from the post office manager"

"So, where does he keep it? At the hospital?"

"No ma'am. We have already searched there."

"Then where…? Oh, wait, you don't think he puts them here?"

"If you don't mind, we'd like to search."

"But, he doesn't live here. He took his clothes to the hospital and he never had much else. I use his room for storage more than anything. It's all cluttered." Now her hands had finally captured each other in a white knuckle grip.

"How often does he visit?"

"Well, uh, not very often, maybe every other week or so."

"Does he carry packages in or out?"

Trixie's eyes were taking on the frozen stare of a trapped rabbit. "I don't know. I never noticed."

Ryan smiled gently, using every ounce of his imagination, thinking how he would react to the lady if she were younger and all dolled up, just for him. "Aw, you mean when he comes in and leaves, giving those lovely cheeks of yours a peck, you don't notice your own son? Doesn't he bring you things sometimes? I bet for sure you give him things like cookies or extra underclothes. You're just too much of a loving mother to not see what he brought or if he's remembering to take what you gave him."

The charm didn't work.

"I don't! I have no idea! I think you'd better leave! You can't search and I won't let you."

"Then we'll have to get a warrant," Ryan said gently.

"You won't find anything."

"Please?"

She still refused and asked them to leave.

Outside in the hummer, Ryan talked with Horatio while Yelina called for a warrant.

Horatio's phone voice was quietly reassuring. "Good try, Wolfe, on trying to get her to allow a search without a warrant. Still, whatever you found could get tricky on using it as evidence. Now, just get in there as quickly as you can."

Hearing Yelina confirm that they would be getting the warrant within half an hour, Ryan answered, "I know, Horatio. That house is small but it's a rat's nest. It won't take her much effort to hide a little bit of plastic explosive and some electronics." He closed the phone.

Ten minutes passed and the only sound they heard was the bang of a trash can lid.

Ryan said listlessly, "Sounds like she's done with dinner. Maybe she'll be in a better mood."

The silence in the neighborhood crept into the car. The two began exchanging glances, grinning and turning their gazes away.

"Do you think H knows about us?"

"Of course, he sees us every day."

"Any idea what he thinks?"

"You mean whether he approves or not?"

Ryan's silence showed his indecision about how to answer.

"Ryan, Horatio and I parted ways as the best of friends. I know he only wishes me to have a happy life. As for what you and I do on our own time, I don't think even we know where we are, do we?"

The dark haired man, attired in a suit coat and bright yellow shirt leaned his elbow on the window ledge of the car door and chewed on his knuckle. After a few seconds he dropped his hand and turned to look at Yelina. "I guess it's my OCD talking; trying to map everything out with everything in its place."

Yelina smiled sweetly, "Oh really? I would never have guessed."

Their conversation turned to the case, lab gossip, plans for their next mutual time off and so on.

Forty minutes later, the two uniformed officers, Yelina, and Ryan were running out of places to look in the small house.

"No loose floorboards in the closet?" Yelina asked one officer.

The young man with the 'fresh paint' look replied crisply, "Nor under the bed or under the carpet, ma'am."

Yelina turned to Ryan, "We've searched behind every dresser, bed headboard, through all the drawers and cupboards and under the sinks."

"I didn't find a thing in the garage or in her car."

Both peered down the hallway to the shadowy living room. From where they stood, they could see Trixie's feet hanging over the raised foot rest of the recliner.

"She didn't have time to bury anything in the back yard."

Yelina snapped her fingers. "But she did have time to toss something into her trash."

Five minutes later, they were announcing to Trixie Blaire that she was under arrest for concealing evidence.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

"Horatio, come in. I'm so glad you could come."

"So am I." For some reason, he wanted to say more and didn't dare.

"I have everything ready."

Solange stood aside to let the man six inches taller than she enter her small home. The double doors to the small massage room were open showing the inviting sight of the table covered in a white sheet. Beyond the table, the door to the patio in back stood open and the rumbling sound of the hot tub could barely be discerned.

"I still feel almost guilty about this Solange."

She reached up and rubbed his shoulder blade. "No need, I assure you. I'm absolutely fine. Besides, I asked you, didn't I? If I were suffering, you'd be at home with a cold pack on your back. I know how to take care of myself."

"I'm glad to hear that. Then let's get on with this."

"By the way, I forgot to mention something this morning. Mr. Souza may have had to go see his doctor or maybe to an emergency room after what I did to him."

Horatio turned, his eyes wide and full of interest. "Oh? It was that serious?"

"Yeah, I was so full of my own guilt for hurting him and all, I forgot what effects that kind of shock to the body could have. Sharp blows to nerve centers can send the body reeling. It's been so long, if he did get attention, he's probably been in and out so I don't know what difference talking about it now could have."

"It could be important. We'll see."

Excusing himself, Horatio pulled his cell out. "Detective Malarosa? This is Horatio Caine. I'd like you to run a check on the ERs in the area between Brickel and Little Havana and 6th and 26th to see if anyone came in suffering from shock caused by bruises to the outer left thigh and the solar plexus. If you find anything, get the medical report and leave it on my desk. Thank you."

He turned to face Solange. "We'll have to wait until tomorrow to check on private doctors."

"So this was important?"

"We never know. It's another lead, thank you."

"Meanwhile, he's still out there."

Horatio shook his head. "Meanwhile I'm here now and an MDPD unit will arrive and park across the street shortly after I leave."

Then, slumping ever so slightly, Horatio smiled gently. "And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to crawl into that tub of hot water."

Solange slapped her forehead. "Oh, of course! Come on let's get you tended to."

Ten minutes later, Horatio, up to his neck in water that had turned his pink skin a deep shade of carnation, wondered dreamily whether it was the Greeks or perhaps some other civilization that had discovered such a wonder. When he felt fingers kneading into his shoulders and neck, he found he no longer cared.

He heard a giggle close to his ear. "I think you're relaxing faster each time."

"I'm in love with those fingers."

"I love hearing that."

In the enchanted silence that followed, Horatio wondered how it was that some people had this gift of touch. This also led him to consider his growing attachment for this woman. Perhaps it was nothing more than the syndrome that led men to fall in love with nurses when they were ill. For the moment, it didn't matter. He was in heaven and that was all that mattered.

An hour and a half later, the two were facing each other over a cup of herbal tea. The table in the nook on one side of her tiny kitchen was so small, their knees nearly touched.

"Are you sure my staying isn't a bother to you?"

"As relaxed as you are, there is no way I let you drive until you're more alert. It's just part of the routine." She paused, looked into her cup of greenish liquid, smiled and said quietly, "Besides, I like the company." Looking up she went on, "And I don't mean because of the feeling of protection."

"Thank you. A police officer doesn't often hear that."

Solange looked up, disbelief written plainly on her face. "What? Oh please, Horatio. A man as good looking and charming as you not having women all over you? I can't believe that."

Horatio thought for a moment. "More years ago than I care to count, perhaps that was true. I think I was too focused on my work to do other than take women's company for granted. Now, well, there seems to be more work and far less company."

Solange sat back grinning. "Well, go out and socialize or something once in a while. Get yourself few women!"

"One will do, thank you."

For a reason that Horatio couldn't fathom at that moment, Solange fell quiet as she stared into his eyes.

To break through the sense of invasion he felt, he turned the tables and asked, "So, how did you get into doing massage? Wanting to help people?"

Solange rolled her eyes as she pursed her lips before answering. "Not really. Like so many people, this is one of many reinventions of myself. I started out life as an archeologist studying ancient Egyptian art. After about five years of brushing dust off of old stuff, I went into geology and was on a team looking for shale oil in the mid northern states. Each time the math courses I had to take nearly put me in the mad house. Then I tried art for a while, working at a small museum here in Miami. I finally figured out that as much as I like people, I'm not great at working 'for' people. By pure happenstance I went to a job seminar where people were giving talks on what they did. Lo and behold, there was this guy talking about massage. I went to a trial class at the massage school this guy had attended and, after the first day, I knew I had to do it. I paid for the first basic class and found the whole discipline fit like a glove, and no math required! Better yet, starting a massage business could be done on a shoe string. I went on to get the full course and the rest, as they say…"

"And how do they teach you to do it the way you do?"

Solange looked at the table without seeing. "They don't. I found out early on that you either have 'the touch' or you don't. No amount of good intentions or training gives it to you. I've had really awful massages from people with years of training and experience and really good massages from people just starting out, not knowing what they are doing."

"Well, you sure have the touch."

Solange giggled. "And if I lose it, I'll never know where to look for it because I have no idea what it is."

Impulsively, Horatio reached out for one of Solange's hands. "Do you mind?"

"No, not at all." Her eyes opened wide in surprise at the gesture.

Taking her hand gently, Horatio examined it. "Somehow I thought your hands were larger."

"When I was a child, I thought I had big hands. Don't ask why, I don't know. I guess that since then, I just used them like big hands."

"They are definitely strong."

"Comes with the territory."

Horatio was captivated by the tools that had just spent an hour reviving him back to wholeness. Finding all he could in the hand, he carefully laid it down. "Amazing."

Solange looked across the table and smiled in pure delight. "Thank you."

"And now, I have to go." He rose more easily than he had in days.

"Of course. I'll walk you to the door."

Before she could open the front door, Horatio reached for Solange's chin, raised it and bent down to kiss her on the lips. "You are a very special woman."

Several seconds passed before Solange could find her voice. Swallowing hard, she replied, "Yeah, you too."

Ten minutes later, Solange was on the phone talking with her best friend, a fellow massage therapist. "I mean, I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it but, wow! 'W'-'O'-ow, wow!"

Her friend reminded her of the general code of ethics they'd long agreed was the only way to survive in the strange world of such a personal service.

"Yes, I know that. It's not like I crawled into bed with him or anything. Besides, I don't think he meant anything by it. He's just one of those very kind men who express themselves that way."

She listened a moment longer.

"I don't think so. Natalia has always said he's always on the up and up when it comes to his working relationships. She's also mentioned that he was dating a fellow cop. I'd hate to think he was making advances while involved with someone else."

"Would I get involved with him if I could?"

Solange laid back in the deck chair and stared at the black sky overhead. She could barely make out the brightest stars through the bright glow of Miami's riotous night lights. "You know what? I don't know. Yes, I'm attracted to him yet…"

"No, I'm not 'gone' on him, not yet, anyway. Look, just tell me the man was carried away by the great service I'm known for and I'm being totally silly."

"Good, I thought so. Now, how are you doing?"

Half an hour later Solange pressed the off button on her phone and laid back to think.

Across town, Horatio was lying back on his condo patio in nearly the same position and doing some thinking of his own. For one thing, he was wondering what in hell had gotten into him for that damn fool kiss? Not only had it been improper under the circumstances, he wasn't at all sure he was ready. It had been only less than a week since he and Yelina had agreed to stop seeing each other.

And yet, and yet there was something about Solange. Was he just more appreciative of her services than he should be? Wasn't it no more than that, services rendered and paid for? For certain, as long as he paid for her to give him the best massages he'd ever had, he could not get involved with her. The laws were very clear on that point.

More, what was so attractive about her; well, aside from having that dark eyed Latina look he liked? What was it about her caring manner that differed from what Yelina had shown? Was he going to bite Solange's head off at some point? No matter how long it took to build a relationship with Solange, it would never be as old as the one between him and Yelina, yet he had turned on Yelina when she came near him in his most vulnerable state. He hadn't asked for help!

Suddenly a flash of connections making contact blazed. That was it, or at least part of it. People who reached out to help without knowing what he wanted drove him crazy. Good intentions or no, if he didn't look for help when he was perfectly capable of requesting it, then he resented the hell out of any attempts. With massage, he was in charge and if he wasn't, he could get up and leave with no personal feelings about it.

The problem now was that he was letting personal feelings get mixed in with the services. Here he was, hiring Solange to give him care, putting himself into her hands and he was thinking of taking into a delicate level.

He rose abruptly chiding himself, "You ass!"

That night he had a dream of a woman giving him a massage that turned into more than that. She was clearly propositioning him with her hands. She was so expert at what she did he couldn't help but respond. He reached for her and before he knew it, she was on the table with him, naked. The table became a bed, a space of joy. When they were done, she was suddenly dressed with the folded table by her side and her bag. He then got confused about how to properly reimburse her. His team was waiting for him to get dressed and go to a crime scene with them. Not only was he unsure of what to do, he was still undressed. He wasn't nearly as concerned with being naked in front of Calleigh or Natalia as he was with the dilemma over the law. The next morning, it took two cups of coffee to clear the foggy feeling the dream had left.

xxxx

In yet another location, the night before, Yelina found herself in a very interesting position. Ryan had walked her to her front door. She wasn't at all sure how she wanted to end the evening. They both agreed they'd had a nice dinner and that he'd been more than charming in payment for being charming to Trixie. On the porch, he had taken her in his arms and kissed her and in doing so, had moved her so her back was pressed against the closed door. Parting from her, he then planted his hands on either side of her head and then leaned closer. He wasn't quite rubbing against her and yet there wasn't much space between them either.

"Yelina," the tone of his voice was heavy with emotion. "I know this is crazy, probably more for you than me. I mean, a few days ago you were with Horatio and then last night, you were in bed with me. How nuts is that?"

Smiling, Yelina answered, "I thought you said you had no regrets about last night?"

Ryan's jaw dropped. "Regrets? No, not that. It's just that, well, I'm finding myself with an incredible amount of feelings for you. That's what's nuts. We've been working together maybe four days on this case and, well, look at me!" He dropped his hands. "I'm trying to keep you captured like I'm afraid you might fly away. It's too much, too fast."

"You're talking to me but you're also talking almost as if I'm not the one involved here."

Ryan looked alarmed again. "I know and I'm sorry. This is the first time this has ever happened."

"And since it's me you're involved with, you figure you should talk it over?"

"Not a good idea? Maybe? I don't know."

Yelina looked long and deep into Ryan's eyes. "I have to admit, I'm surprised by all of this. Yes, I'm still coming down from being with Horatio. We avoided being together for so long and then when we were a couple, we realized we shouldn't be. Still, now that it's officially over between us, I'm still reeling. On the other hand, what you and I have done hasn't hurt one bit. And yet, maybe we could slow it down a bit. After all, there's no hurry, is there?"

Again Ryan turned and planted his hands on the door and leaned in to face Yelina. "Yeah, but I so want to come in and ravish you."

"And you know you shouldn't."

Growling, Ryan stepped back and whirled around as if trying to dance around his feelings. "Damn the human male body!"

Yelina took that moment to turn, open her door and slip in. Standing at the small opening, barring entry, she whispered, "I'll see you at work tomorrow, Prince Charming."

Before Ryan could move forward to catch a last kiss, she closed the door.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"Horatio, I was thinking; it could be that this guy kidnapped Solange purely on overhearing our conversation, but somehow, that seems like a very thin excuse."

"Alright, Natalia, what would be a better reason for him to do it?"

"I'm thinking that maybe Ditka was one of Solange's clients at one time and this guy is somehow connected."

Horatio's eyes glinted at the thought. "And you think perhaps she went to their new house and so would know the location."

"It sure wouldn't hurt to ask if she recalls someone resembling our man."

"Would you call her, please." Horatio had been about to perform this pleasant duty when his cell called for an answer.

Forty minutes later, Natalia caught up to him in the break room just as he was indulging in another cup of coffee.

"She apologizes, Horatio, but she can't find the name in her book. She admits to not keeping the best records when it comes to names of clients she doesn't see more than once or twice. She says she notes addresses but that's all. What she did say though was that she could come in to take a look at the body. She thinks she may recall who he was that way."

"Did you tell her a dead body is a far cry from a live person?"

"Oh yeah." Natalia's face reflected her own memory of the rite of passage of every police officer. "My first time, I fainted! When I told her about it, she said she thinks she can handle it."

Horatio quickly drew a small circle with his chin as if adjusting his neck. "I hope she can. She's been through a lot already." Privately he was trying to envision the calm, self-contained woman with the healing hands who had fought her way out of captivity, getting her first look at a dead body with a face set in everlasting horror. If not for the importance of finding this Souza character, he'd have said no.

Two hours later, Solange was given a weak look of admittance from Dr. Loman. When Horatio had told him of what was going to happen, he had protested. "It's bad enough when I have to show the remains to relatives for legal identification. A total stranger viewing him smacks of invasion of this man's privacy."

"And if she can identify him as a client and so give us an address, is the invasion worse than letting his murderer go?"

The doctor's square face took on a helpless look. "Horatio, you're putting me in an untenable position."

He then sighed and continued, "But, then, this isn't the first time." He raised his head resolutely. "Alright, I agree, but you have to hold her hand. We both know the reactions most novices have to the dead who haven't been serviced by an undertaker first. I'm protecting this man as best I can and I won't be responsible for her as well."

Horatio had smiled quietly. "Agreed. Thank you, Tom. I'll be with her when she arrives and stay until she leaves."

Not knowing what had preceded her arrival, Solange looked around the morgue in wide eyed wonder. "Holy Toledo! I've got pictures of skinned bodies in my books, showing muscle structure; is this the kind of place the photos would be taken?"

Raising himself to his full height of six, three, Dr. Loman looked down at her in disapproval. "Hardly. We work to preserve and protect the bodies here while we inquire into the reasons for their demise. The photos to which you refer would be taken in some sort of physiological learning center, I'm sure."

Looking chastened, Solange uttered a short, "Oh."

"Are you sure you want to do this, Solange?"

"Yes, Horatio, I'm sure. I know pictures in books are different. Natalia explained all of the unpleasantness and I've decided that if I can help get this rat, I can hack it."

Horatio looked at Tom who led the way to the far end of the bank of refrigerated body vaults. Assuming an almost reverential stance, the M.E. bent down and opened the door then pulled out the tray.

Horatio, standing beside Solange to one side of the tray, could feel the waft of cool air as it fell out and down, wrapping around his legs. It was always cool in this dungeon of death but the air from the vault was necessarily cooler. Then, the unmistakable, unstoppable odor of death assailed his nose. Knowing it was hitting Solange as well he turned to see how she was taking it. She was still, looking in apparent fascination at the cloth covered figure.

"Are you ready, Ms. Del Fuego?" The doctor had grasped the edge of the cloth.

She swallowed hard. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The cloth was pulled down to the neck of the corpse.

Solange jumped, averted her eyes and gasped, "Ew!"

Just as quickly, she brought her eyes back taking in a ragged breath. "I thought that as rigor passed, the facial muscles would relax."

The doctor shook his head sadly. "Not in all cases. This was so extreme, this is as far as his will go."

Solange inhaled and exhaled slowly and shook her head deliberately. "Poor man. Well, no matter. I've seen the artist's rendering of how he might have looked alive. So far, I'm not recognizing him. May I see the rest of his torso, please?"

Tom looked at Horatio questioningly with a heavy frown added.

Horatio took it on himself to ask, "May I ask the necessity of that?"

The smaller woman looked up at the two men and smiled gently. "I work with human bodies and generally spend an hour at a time with them. I know the body far more than I know the face. Maybe there will be something about the build or the form or a mole or whatever."

After a moment's hesitation, Tom pulled the material down to the man's hips. His lips were trying not to snarl at this interloper he'd given entry onto his territory. He gave a brief glare over Solange's bent head to Horatio's eyes that said as much as, 'This is a bit too far!'

Horatio showed no reaction. As long as Solange remained calm, there was a chance she would see something that could lead them to this man's killer and her kidnapper.

Solange looked the body over carefully and deliberately. After about three minutes, she asked, "May I touch?"

Dr. Loman, never one for nonsense, raised his pale eyebrows and abruptly inquired, "Why?"

"I'm seeing something and I need to verify a suspicion." She put up a hand. "I swear I only want to palpate the arms and shoulders."

Thoroughly upset by now, Tom never-the-less turned and grabbed a pair of latex gloves. "Here, use these."

Struggling with the unfamiliar tools, she finally donned them and quickly and expertly started working her way from the shoulder down to the wrist. She paused occasionally, feeling through the muscle layers, gazing into space, nodding to herself and then went on.

She took the gloves off and said, "I don't need to do the other side to know this guy was badly abused several times. It could have been sports injuries, I suppose. I'm guessing the second because of the way the bumps on the bones vary, as if some are longer healed than others."

Horatio asked, "What made you suspicious in the first place?"

Solange pointed at the clavicle. "See the lumps, one here and then the smaller one there and then another on the other side? That's what healed broken bones look like. The clavicle is easy to break and one isn't so unusual, but three and on both sides? His arms have really taken a beating and I'm betting the rest of his body has as well. I was pretty sure I knew what I'd find but partly I was just curious to see if I could find it on a dead person." Her look said she knew she'd pulled a fast one and hoped they hadn't minded. "Anyway, that all tells me I've never seen this poor man before. Even if I didn't remember his muscles structure, I wouldn't have missed those injuries."

Horatio was disappointed. "It was worth a shot, anyway."

"I wish I could have been of some help."

Tom finished putting the body away. Rising, he said, "Maybe you can be later. Have you ever considered working in a morgue doing forensics work?"

"I'm not a doctor."

"No but after what I just saw, you could be a lay assistant especially when we're very busy. You may not be familiar with internal organs, but your knowledge of muscle and bone structure rivals mine, I'm sure."

Solange handed him a card. "I'd like to talk to you about that. Give me a call when you are free and we'll get down to business."

In the elevator riding up to the third floor, Horatio stole a glance at the lady by his side. He wondered if she would take up the offer. The idea of her working in the same building, even occasionally, was, well, to say the least, interesting.

Solange wasn't used to keeping her feelings closed off to the world when she wasn't in 'massage therapist mode.' As a therapist, she tried to always remain calm and quiet in order to encourage her clients to be the same. On her own, she was just as likely to cry when she was sad and to whoop and holler when she was happy. She was outrageously overjoyed at having been asked to be an assistant to a real doctor in a forensic capacity and more so to be working in the same building as Horatio Caine. At the moment, she wasn't sure this was the time or the place to let these feelings out.

Suddenly, Horatio reached out and poked at the button marked '1'. "I'm sorry, I automatically go to '3'. I forgot you probably have some place to go."

The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

"As a matter of fact, my schedule is clear for the moment. I thought I'd go talk with Natalia if she isn't busy. If she is, then I'll toddle on home."

Horatio swiftly pushed the door close button before she could change her mind. Insanely, he wished for telepathic powers so he could tell Natalia to not be busy for the next hour or two or even the rest of the day.

As much as he wanted to escort Solange and then guard her on her visit, all he could do was point the way and hope. He knew she would be safe in the lab, it was just that, she had to go home sometime. Besides, guarding her would keep him close…

He turned and walked away. Now that this possible lead had come to nothing, he had to find Calleigh and look for another path to the garden man's killer.

Blond hair hanging over her shoulders, obscuring her face, Calleigh was standing, leaning on her hands, hunched over a table and waggling her butt from side to side. Her face carried a look of pain.

"Calleigh, are you alright?"

Standing up, hands on where her trim waist had once been, leaning first to one side and then the other, Calleigh took on what Horatio called her brave look. "Oh, I guess so. I think my muscles are objecting to the strain of sitting up all day."

"How about telling me where you have the file on Ditka and then going home for the rest of the day?"

"There's so much to do, Horatio. I'll tell you what. I'm going to finish a bullet comparison test first. Then, if nothing else comes up, I'll head on out."

"Just take good care, alright?"

Calleigh smiled her sweetest smile as she handed him the Ditka file. "Yes, papa, I promise."

Pulling out his phone, he was soon talking with Tripp. "Frank, come up here when you have the time, please. We need to narrow down the circle where Ditka's murderer is."

On the other side of the lab, Natalia was happy to have her cousin's company. DNA comparison was rewarding but not exciting. It required a great deal of waiting for results and jotting of notes. None of it took much concentration so the distraction of her cousin was perfect.

"How do you think Tom could use your talents?"

Solange waved her hand. "I don't know. As an assistant, I doubt I'll be given more than I can handle. Who knows, maybe all I'll be doing is cleaning off bodies."

"What? With your experience in muscles?"

Solange laughed. "As soon as I know what I'll be doing, you'll know. Okay? Hey, I'm just glad I might get a chance to be near the lab on occasion."

"Oh? You like me all that much? I had no idea."

"Well, that's part of it."

Natalia glanced around to see who might be in earshot. "And the other part might be…?

"You said that he's involved with someone else." Solange's voice was level and restrained.

Again, looking around, Natalia lowered her voice and inclined her head towards her cousin. "Guess what the latest rumor is?"

Solange raised an eyebrow in expectation of the news.

"That relationship is over."

Surprised silence leaped from Solange's face.

Natalia grinned playfully. "So, I guess that makes working down in the morgue a little more intriguing, right?"

Remembering to breathe, Solange inhaled enough to say, "Just a little."

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Trixie Blaire's shrill outrage could be heard up and down the corridors. "My son didn't do anything! I don't know who that stuff belongs to or how it got into my trash."

Ryan was done with being charming to her. He was frustrated from the previous night with Yelina which only added to the annoyance now. He was close to the end of this case and still had nothing to put into state's attorney's files. Leaning on his hands and staring at Trixie from across the table he snarled, "We don't think your son was anything more than a patsy for you Ms. Blaire. He is sick and you used him."

"Me? What did I do? I don't know what you're talking about." Trixie put her pleading eyes on Yelina who was standing in the corner of the room, her arms folded across her chest.

Yelina, for her part, was trying to keep her face from showing the disgust she felt for the woman.

Ryan continued piling on the evidence he had. "You used to work with a magician. You know how locks work and it was no trick to get into those windows in those wig shops. You may even have had him climb in through the windows so he could then let you in through the back door."

"Why would I want to fool with someone else's hairpiece?"

"That's a good question. Why not tell us? Or would you like us to go find Marky and ask him? From what we know, he's mentally ill, not stupid. I bet he knows why he was picking up mail for a company that didn't exist under his own mother's name."

"He won't tell you." Her voice carried the assurance of a mother who knows her child.

Ryan, walked around the table and gently laid his hand on Trixie's shoulder. "Lady, this was where you were supposed to say, there's nothing for him to tell."

Trixie realizing her mistake fell silent.

"You know, at first, we did suspect Marky. When a kid sees a clown doing grown up stuff to his mom; that could be a little disconcerting."

Ryan didn't include the fact that the other now grown children who had witnessed the same thing had been eliminated as suspects for a variety of reasons.

"But, then, the rest of murders just didn't fit in. Now, come on, what did you have against Stromboli and Crowley? How did they figure into your life?"

This time, after a short silence, Yelina spoke up. "Or is it that Marky knew all about whatever was going on with you and those men, that you had affairs with them? Maybe he did do it all on his own. Maybe we should arrest him and let him spend the rest of his life in prison on a death sentence, waiting for his appeals to run out."

"No! No, don't do that! Yeah, I can pop window locks from the outside with no problem. My boy did crawl in and opened the doors. I'd shoo him along after I got in. He also brought me the stuff from the post office. I told him it was for a tax scam to keep me in the house. Still, he figured out what I was doing and told me to quit after Crowley. He won't talk to me now."

The two officers had only to wait to give the faded woman the time she needed to talk.

After a few minutes spent in examining her hands, she looked up to say, "I don't know what it is about me. You wouldn't know it now but I was a real looker back then; especially when I was all dressed up for the stage." Her eyes looked up and to one side as she remembered her glory days. "I'd wear feathers in my hair and sparkly costumes with poufs on the back and satin tails." Then her eyes dropped. "All the men were after me but I seem to be the love'm-n-leave'm type. I was always falling for sweet talking charmers. The problem was as soon as they got what they wanted, they were gone. The dumb thing was, even when the ones who left, like Dowd, came back and tell me the same garbage, I'd fall for it all over. I finally realized I wasn't 'the one'; I was one of a whole lot and would always be with these guys. I know Marky saw me at least once with Dowd and maybe with Stromboli. I think that's what turned him crazy, you know? I needed to show him that these men weren't good men and needed to be punished. I knew they all wore wigs. They used to laugh at me for having to wear wigs all of the time because my hair has always been so thin. Well, who's laughing now?

An hour later, watching her being led away, Yelina said, "Poor woman."

"What's so sad about her? She dressed up like a trick pony for the carnival shows and then wonders why she was ridden? Come on!"

"Trick ponies are meant to be admired and taken care of, Ryan, not ridden and then left to fend for themselves. You're right about her, but not right that she should have handled her fate. She just didn't understand."

Ryan looked at Yelina in a new light. "I hate to think she might get off on an excuse like that."

"I don't want her to get off. She killed three men and was ready to kill another. No, she needs help but she probably won't get it. After years in prison, and years of appeals, she'll be given a lethal injection and it will be done."

Yelina looked at some notes handed to her by an officer. "Marky showed up at the hospital. Apparently he's in some sort of fugue state and doesn't know who he is. Do you think he was watching when his mother was arrested and taken away? That can be a shock to a mind in an already delicate condition."

"Yeah, right, he's in shock like I am." Ryan shrugged. "Well, all we can do is turn what we have over to the Assistant State's Attorney's office and let them decide if Marky is responsible for his actions."

Moving down the hallway, Ryan smiled to himself and then asked, "If Trixie was a trick pony, what kind of horse would you be?"

Yelina kept her eyes ahead of her, well aware of what she was being asked. "Come over to my house for dinner tonight and I'll tell you then."

xxxx

"Mr. McCauber, we found your fingerprints on a gun that had my hair and blood on it."

"I didn't hit you."

"No, your son, Tommy, did that. I know because his fingerprints were on it as well. Your part was to take the gun from him and throw it into the trashcan in the park bathroom."

"I may have handed him the gun. It's a dangerous world and I figured he might need protection. I never saw it after I gave it to him."

"Wrong. I don't know how Tommy got the gun in the first place. I do know, he used it to attack me. Your prints were on top of your son's prints." Horatio had slowly walked to McCauber's side, his hands on his hips. Finishing speaking in a casual tone, he leaned down to whisper in the man's ear. He knew the man was looking straight ahead and he aimed his own eyes at the same point on the glass wall. "That means you were the last to handle the gun before it hit the trash."

McCauber almost turned. The proximity of Horatio's face to his made it too uncomfortable so he stiffened his neck as he replied, "So? He made a mistake and I wanted to protect my boy."

Stealing leaning over the man's shoulder, Horatio said quietly, "What you should have done is teach him better sense than to attack a police officer in the first place. You are under arrest for concealing evidence. Your precious boy is under arrest for assault to an officer on duty as well as setting fire out in the Everglades."

He moved as if to stand up and walk away and then leaned down again. This time, he put a hand on McCauber's shoulder and squeezed viciously. The man tried to struggle away and found the pain got worse so he sat still. Horatio continued speaking in a deadly whisper. "And by the way, I and the rest of my brother officers in Florida are going to make your family's life and that of any extended family a miserable existence as long as they stay in this area. Your time of scamming the public south of Georgia and Alabama and east of Mississippi is over. Pass the word when they visit you in prison." He removed his hand from McCauber's shoulder, stood erect and quickly walked out of the room.

McCauber had inhaled raggedly and held his breath until the redhead was gone from the room. Raising one hand to his screaming shoulder, his ear felt hot from the breath he'd felt. His brain had gone cold thinking about his fate. A moment later, an officer came in to haul him out.

Just outside of the door, the redhead heard, "Horatio, you wanted me?"

Having forgotten McCauber like a dog forgets the last flea he ate, Horatio directed Frank Tripp to one of the meeting rooms. "Malarosa came up with nothing on anyone fitting our guy's description in the ERs. Calleigh, however, did give me a list of package deliveries that were made in our target area in the last three months but only before our victim was found."

The two men spent the next fifteen minutes marking off the names that didn't fall into the appropriate dates.

"That's still, what, forty, forty-five?"

"I was thinking we could narrow it down to within walking distance from that strip mall where we got that recognition from the sketch."

"Okay, shall we say three-quarters of a mile radius from there? He came in mostly at night so he wouldn't want to walk too far in the dark."

They went to a computer and pulled up a map, roughly figured the circle and then marked off some more names.

Horatio's voice was lowering to a more satisfied whisper. "That cuts it down to twenty-two deliveries. Then we'll take off the women's names."

"Let's hope he wasn't one of those who liked to pose as a woman for taking in deliveries."

"We still have a few avenues of elimination, Frank. Primarily, we know that this house was purchased about a year ago. So, we go to public records and look up these addresses." He turned to the computer again.

Half an hour later, Frank was as close to smiling as he ever got when he was on the job. "Down to four. I guess that's a doable number. I'll call SWAT."

"Something tells me that this man isn't the kind that will stand up to armed men. Women and poisons are more his level. I think just two SWAT per house plus a short team of unis and a lead man on each will be enough."

"Agreed. Even with that, the three houses where he's not will be innocent homeowners scared out of their wits."

"Which is why we'll start out by politely knocking and see who opens the door."

After an hour of making arrangements with Eric, Ryan and Frank on each of the other three houses, Horatio was waiting at the fourth for the two SWAT men to come back with a report on what they had seen through windows and over the backyard fence. By hand signals, they indicated that they had seen only one person inside and no one outside.

Seeing this, he quietly radioed the uniformed officers to accompany him onto the porch, weapons drawn, and then to stand to one side.

Holding his own weapon down and slightly behind his hip region, Horatio knocked on the door.

A pleasant looking man with dark hair and nearly black eyes opened the door. From the way he supported himself on the door handle, Horatio could tell he wasn't feeling too well.

"Are you Barry Souza?"

"Yes. And you are…?"

Horatio introduced himself. "We have reason to believe you have something to do with the murder of Norbert Ditka?"

"Excuse me? He's dead? And you think I have something to do with it?"

"Unless you had some other reason to kidnap Solange Del Fuego and hold her against her will overnight."

"I—I have no idea what you are talking about!"

"From the way you're standing and her description of what she did to you, I believe you do. I'd like your permission to look at your back yard, please."

One of the SWAT officers stepped forward, his rifle pointed to the ground. "Sir, on looking over the fence to ascertain whether anyone was back there, I noticed a Deadly Nightshade plant. Is that of any help?"

"I think that is more than ample help, thank you, officer." Horatio was smiling from ear to ear. SWAT officers were more than heavily armored men with big weapons.

"Barry Sousa, you are under arrest for the murder of Norbert Ditka and for kidnapping Solange Del Fuego. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have told them to you?"

In spite of his protests of innocence, Souza agreed that he understood the rights, was cuffed, and put into the green and white patrol car.

Putting a guard on the house, dismissing the SWAT men with his thanks, Horatio climbed into the oversized SUV. Before he could fire up Hummer, his phone sang from his pocket. It was Frank.

"I have him, Frank."

"Good, 'cause I'm on the way to the hospital."

"Calleigh?"

"She hopes it's false labor. She's supposed to have another two weeks."

"You go; I can handle Souza."

xxxx

Five hours later, Horatio stood waiting for another door to open to his inquiring knock.

"Horatio! What a surprise."

"Solange, I thought you'd like to know we caught Souza. He's in jail now."

Before he knew it, two small but powerful arms were wrapped around his neck and he was being hugged by a happy lady. His physical response to the surprise almost embarrassed him.

"Come in and tell me about it."

She led the way into the kitchen. "I was just about to brew up some tea."

Moments later, the two were in the back yard under a black sky. Horatio had begged for coffee, needing the caffeine to counter the adrenaline still pumping through his system.

"Apparently, Norbert Ditka had been Souza's partner for several years. The problem was, Souza thought it was an uneven partnership and got tired of it. Ditka was a near agoraphobic. When he did go out, he dressed in disguises with wigs, hats and dark glasses." Horatio hesitated. Why in bloody hell was he discussing a case outside of the lab?

Solange had drunk in his words, sitting forward in her seat. "As I understand agoraphobia, disguising one's appearance is one way of staying within boundaries of comfort."

She thought for a moment and then posed, "I bet he was off the radar in terms of records too."

"True, he always paid cash, never registered to vote or paid taxes or renewed his driver's license. Souza said he finally felt stifled and wanted out of the relationship."

"Who could blame him? He seemed friendly and outgoing in his restaurant."

Horatio somehow couldn't help himself and went on. This woman was incredibly easy to talk to. "Initially he took his frustrations out by beating the man. Ditka, having been beaten as a child, didn't know how to stand up for himself. Finally, when Souza couldn't convince Ditka to leave, he poisoned him with a salad containing deadly nightshade. As often happens in murders, once the deed was done, he was sorry for Ditka and since he couldn't bury him, he did the next best thing, put him in one of their favorite haunts, the community garden."

"But why naked?"

"He said that Ditka had always said he wanted to leave the world as he'd entered. The only thing he ever said about his birth was that he came facing north."

"You know, I've gone to that garden many times. They hold craft fairs and harvest events there. I go with my massage chair and do massages for a dollar a minute as a way to drum up business for myself. I wonder if I ever did the victim? Doing just the back and through clothing doesn't tell me much. Maybe Souza thought I'd remember?"

"That's possible. I think it's more likely he was just trying to use you as a means to stop the investigation. He'd heard you and Natalia talking and could get hold of you through your business card."

"If I hadn't gotten away, would you have stopped the investigation?"

Horatio hesitated.

Solange saved her guest from thinking up a politically correct answer. "I would hope you wouldn't have."

"We wouldn't have stopped looking for you."

The silence that ensued filled in the rest; that while searching for her, the investigation would have gone on.

"I'm glad."

"I'm glad you got away."

A long moment of silence followed, punctuated only by the sound of slurps from their cups.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I'm going to take a course in self-defense."

"Because of what happened?"

"That and, if I'm going to be working in proximity of the lab, I'm not going to leave myself open to attacks again."

Horatio almost spoke to object and then realized his words would most likely be carried off by the gentle evening breeze, rejected by his target. Solange was much like her cousin, Natalia, in that, both were strong, driven women who, once they put their minds to something, would not be deterred.

After a moment, Solange rose and strolled casually over to the hot tub, turned on a switch, paused to listen to the rumble of machinery, and returned to her lounge.

"Care for a soak?"

"No suit."

"I've got towels if it comes to that."

"Let me make a call first."

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Calleigh screamed again. She roared curses at her husband, Frank Tripp, snarled at the male orderly who was monitoring of her blood pressure and at all men in general. She was in pain and it was because men were responsible!

Then the contraction ended and life was much better. She released her death grip on her husband's large hand and tried to smile at him. "Oh, Frank, I'm sorry for what I said to you just now. You know I didn't mean it."

Frank smiled weakly wondering when the feeling in his hand would return, if it would. "I know Cal. I've got no idea what you're going through but if it has you swearing like a cowhand on the trail, then I know it's bad for you."

He turned to look helplessly at the hospital staff in attendance and didn't feel much assured at their calm smiles.

Outside, in the waiting room, Eric Delko, broke through the doors at a near dead run, looking around wildly. "H! I thought she wasn't due for another two weeks!"

"Apparently a four week variation either way isn't all that uncommon." Horatio tried to sound reassuring, tried to keep his worried gaze from the door that concealed the mother to be.

"Is she okay?"

"I think we'd know if she wasn't." He glued his eyes onto a spot on Delko's forehead in determination.

Suddenly the two of them heard a scream of pain. It was all they could do to keep from running into the room where they knew their co-worker was. Of the two, one had once been her lover and the other had been her supervisor, her friend, and her admirer. The two had become brothers because of another woman and yet Calleigh was perhaps an even stronger connection for them.

"Hey guys, how is she? She isn't delivering now, is she?" Natalia's hair was still wet from having been in the shower when she got the call.

While Delko filled her in, Horatio answered his phone. "No, Tom, she's okay as far as we know."

Another loud groan made him think twice about his statement.

He nodded, his eyes fixed blindly on a spot on the wall between two vending machines. "We're assuming it's all going well. Frank is the only one allowed to be with her right now. Yes, I'll let you know, thank you."

Another explosion through the entrance produced Ryan, all eyes. Before they could reassure him, Frank came out from the birthing suite.

His melodramatic lean against the wall next to the door and shaking his hand did nothing to reassure anyone. Before the group of CSIs could speak, however, he said, "Lordy! I am never going to be witness the birth of a child again even if it means getting neutered!"

Eric was not in the mood to take any stalling. "Frank, is Calleigh alright! Tell us!"

"Yeah, she's okay considering she just delivered twins weighing five and a half pounds each."

Everyone turned to the other and grinned almost as if they were each personally responsible for the feat themselves.

It was Natalia who asked, "When can we go in and see her?"

Done with his exaggerations, Frank stood and spoke with his usual Texas drawl. "The nurse shooed me out so they could take care of her. She'll tell us when she's ready."

At that moment, as if on cue, a woman in a blue smock and blue pants opened the door. "I think a mother is set for her congratulations."

Following everyone else in, Horatio was sure that if the lights in the room were turned off, Calleigh would be a source of light on her own. Her smile was brilliant, her eyes, though tired, still had a green flash, and her skin was a glowing ivory.

As usual, he stood back while the others viewed the two little miracles, Frank Jr. and Jake (Calleigh explained that Frank had a brother, Jake) and then offered congratulations to her.

When his turn came, he first noticed how green the eyes were. Then he tested each little one's grip by gently laying a forefinger into a palm and feeling the automatic reaction as the fingers curled around it. He could also tell these would be the blondest of blonds. Then he stepped forward and laid a gentle kiss on Calleigh's hair. "Good job, good job."

"I'm just glad I did it in the evening when no one was working."

Natalia put her hands on her hips. "Oh, would you listen to little Ms. Perfect? Always thinking of others?"

Calleigh rolled her eyes and smiled through pale lips. "Always aim to please, that's me."

"Well, I'm not going to be outdone here. As soon as you need a baby sitter, I get first dibs. Then, when you need a permanent nanny, I have cousins, aunts, second cousins and so on."

Calleigh tried to look brightly pleased but she ended up stifling a yawn instead. This was Frank's cue to move everyone out of the room.

Out in the waiting area, a rare look of gratitude came over his face. "Guys, thanks. You have no idea how much having you here means to Calleigh and me."

Horatio looked at his adopted family and did what he so rarely did, spoke for them all. "I think we're all glad you thought enough of us to include us. Thank you."

xxxx

A couple of weeks later, Solange opened her front door to enter her house. This time, she was followed by Horatio.

The two had been out to an early dinner at a nouveau Cuban place. Both had agreed they would not be visiting it again.

"I think that chilies go a long way as it is, but the owner of this place must own a plantation of them."

"All the same kind, too. I would have liked some variation in the heat." Horatio paused at the door sill.

Solange smiled at him and said gently, "Horatio, I can't close the door until you come in."

Smiling back, Horatio replied, "I wasn't sure if this was the end of our evening. I only asked you out for dinner."

"And we did that and now I need some cheese and crackers to fight the boiler factory in my stomach and I'd like some company while I munch even if you won't join me."

"Cheese and crackers does sound good."

The two, standing at the kitchen counter, made short work of a package of the extra food.

Leaning back, Solange looked relieved. "Much better."

Seeing that Horatio was picking up his dish, she turned. "Here, I'm just going to put them in the sink. Let's go relax in the back yard."

Horatio grabbed her hand and smiled gently down at the woman he was fast becoming so attracted to. "Wait, come here."

"What?"

He gently pulled her into his arms and bent down. "This." He kissed her gently at first and then added more meaning to show his intent.

Solange pulled back. Her gaze up into his eyes showed uncertainty. "Horatio, I don't think we should, not yet."

"Yet?" He raised his thick taffy eyebrows.

She did not release her hand from his as she spoke with a dry smile. "Okay, you caught that and were honest about it. That's one of the things I like about you."

"Yet…"

"You are one complicated man. I won't deny that I'm attracted to you and I think that's why. The thing is, we've both lived complex lives. Really, how much do we know about each other? I'd like to know more before we get too involved. What is it you've said?"

"I think you are referring to the phrase, 'Trust, then verify.'" Horatio knew he had been 'hoist by his own petard.'

"That's the one. Somehow, I'm not so sure either of us have done that too often when it comes to getting involved with others. I'd like to try it this time. How about you?"

Horatio felt thrown. He had never thought about how or why he had become involved with women. He stood, looking down into those gorgeous brown eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere and, so far, there's no one else on the horizon. I've gathered the same stands for you. Let's take this slowly. Okay?"

Horatio's eyes clouded to gray as the freckles on his face became more pronounced. He bent his head to one side and seemed to try to view her point of view through her eyes. Finally, giving up, he shrugged and smiled wanly. "Does that mean I can plan on being grilled like a cheeseburger on future dates?"

Solange smiled brightly, "Oh jeez! You betcha'. And feel free to return the favor, you know?"

Horatio smiled at her attempt to imitate one of her aunts who hailed from northern Michigan. "There's an art gallery opening on Thursday. I can pick you up at seven. You want to start then?"

"I look forward to it."

Driving home, Horatio reviewed the recent conversation. He wondered if she was gently letting him down or encouraging his advances. He had never been invited to quiz a woman before though he had often countered attempts at women's prying into his life. Now he'd agreed to both. He sighed. Well, perhaps it was for the better.

xxxx

Meanwhile two very sweaty people were in the process of exploring each other in an entirely different manner. Though not the first time, now they were entirely sober and both were sure of the other's intentions.

One minute, Ryan was loving Yelina with his entire body, swarming her with his, and the next he was laying by her side and gently stroking her hips, his eyes wandering from her eyes to her sensuous mouth to her breasts and down.

When he was in her arms, Yelina found herself pulling him to her, wrapping her arms around his muscular shoulders and back, wrapping her legs around his, and writhing in pure enjoyment. She was surprised each time he pulled back. It had been a while since she had been with a man Ryan's age but if her memory served her right, when a man engaged his body, his ability to stop was isolated. Not that she objected all that much. It was just that, this approach intrigued her. Was this his way or was he afraid to follow his inclinations?

Then he took the unsuspected a step further. "So, you haven't told me yet."

"Told you what?"

"If you were a horse, what kind of horse would you be?"

Yelina was stopped cold. She hadn't taken his remark seriously and had never even thought about the subject before. The analogy was Ryan's and she had replied in kind. The idea of applying it to herself had never crossed her mind.

Apparently he could read her thoughts. "I thought all little girls pretended they were horses or played at riding horses."

"Since I was raised with horses on my father's ranch in Columbia, I didn't have to pretend. Besides, I think even little girls who don't have horses pretend they own one, not that they are one."

"Yeah, but if you were…Okay, let me ask this, if you were a horse, would you be wild or would you be tame?"

Now, on more familiar ground, Yelina gave the question some thought. "I think neither. I would be a stabled horse but not one that is easily ridden."

"So, not a trick pony or a saddle nag."

"I can be ridden bareback by the right person."

Ryan's eyes took on a glint. "Bareback, huh? Then that right person just holds on tight and lets you run?"

Yelina inched close to this most interesting young man. "Something like that."

Ryan nodded large. "Ahh, now I get it. Just so long as you and your rider get to the finish line together, you're happy."

Yelina pushed Ryan onto his back and straddled him. "Now, enough talk about horses."

"Can I at least think about the horse analogy from time to time?"

Yelina could feel Ryan's manhood increasing beneath her. "If it makes things better for you."

She wiggled her hips and then leaned down to kiss the square jaw and the lips. "And now, I'm going to make things better for me."

And she did.

xxxx

The following morning, Horatio couldn't help but notice the slightest hint of circles under Ryan's eyes. He had brought him copies of his reports on the wig case for the files.

The smiling inquiry caught him off guard. "Mr. Wolfe, is what no one is talking about around the lab true?"

After only the slightest hesitation, Ryan answered, "You mean about me and Yelina?"

"That's correct."

"Yeah, H, it is. I don't know how it happened."

"If you're nervous about the short period between our breakup and now, don't be."

"I'm not nervous about it when I'm with her, but now, talking about it with you, well, it just seems weird, is all."

"That wasn't my point, Ryan. I did want to caution you about getting involved with someone you work with. I'm sure you know the problems."

"I don't think I'd ever get involved with anyone in the lab itself. For me, that would be too much of a good thing. Who knows when Yelina and I will ever work together again?"

"Then you and I are okay?"

Horatio shifted his stance, spreading his feet. "Always, Mr. Wolfe, always."

Watching Ryan head to his section of the lab, Horatio's head turned to the empty area that was Calleigh's. She would be returning in about two weeks which wouldn't be too soon. She was sorely missed.

His thoughts turned briefly to his personal life. He had awakened with the conviction that he wanted Solange in his life, no matter how much or little he knew about her. The problem was how to accomplish that? He hadn't ever had to woo a woman.

He sighed, 'well,' he thought, 'it was time he learned.'

The End (for now)


End file.
